


With The Hush of My Lips, I Wholly Confound The Skeptic

by Unknown



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A bit hopeful?, Cancer, Dark, F/M, M/M, Mates, Multi, Near Death Experience, Slash, brief mentions of sex in the end, but no actual doing the deed, sorry loves, soul mates, the sheriff still has no fucking idea about wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown/pseuds/Unknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My contribution to the Teen Wolf Big!Big:</p><p>It’s honestly his dad’s worst nightmare.</p><p>And it’s not like the doctors never told them that it could be hereditary, what his mother died of. They had. It’s just, after such a tragic thing like her dying had happened, they hadn’t thought anything could ever be worse.</p><p>Until they had found that stupid abnormality in Stiles’ stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Carry The Plenum Of Proof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [l3av3-m3-br3athl3ss](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=l3av3-m3-br3athl3ss).



> I joined in for my first Big~Bang! I had an amazing artist/fanmixer, branquignole out on tumblr and on livejournal. She's awesome. She encouraged me a whole lot and my love made this possible!
> 
> ALSO!!!!
> 
> My dearest, dearest l3av3-m3-br3athl3ss out on tumblr made this whole thing possible because he totally wanted this to happen and asked me to write it for him forever ago. I hope he likes what he gets! I tried to be as close to what you wanted love! This is my gift to him as well. 
> 
> So. A few things:
> 
> Warnings: cancer, sickness, m/m slash, near death, chemotherapy, heart-wrenching sadness, mushy fluff
> 
> Author’s Note: Uh, what is research? I only know this from when my godmother and great aunt went through it, so it’s from my personal experience that most of this information is coming from. 
> 
> Sorry if I get anything wrong or if it seems unrealistic! Let's remember that it is FICTION! YAY! CREATIVE LICENSE! 
> 
> Ok. Have fun.
> 
> ***  
> Title from the poem, Song of Myself by Walt Whitman:
> 
> “Writing and talk do not prove me,  
> I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face,  
> With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skeptic."

It’s honestly his dad’s worst nightmare.

And it’s not like the doctors never told them that it could be hereditary, what his mother died of. They had. It’s just, after such a tragic thing like her dying had happened, they hadn’t thought anything could ever be worse.

Until they had found that stupid abnormality in Stiles’ stomach.

He’d been having stomach aches that he’s put off to stress over the pack and getting Jackson integrated into it. He’d put it off as stress over trying to stay caught up in school. When he’d thrown up blood after a run in with some other werewolf hunting family, he’d known something was wrong and told his dad.

And then they’d gone to the hospital for tests. And now they want to do a biopsy because of the fact that he might have cancer like his mother.

Stiles is sitting outside of the doctor’s room. They’d done an ultrasound on his stomach and found an odd formation and he’s terrified of what it could be. His dad is currently talking to the doctor, scheduling appointments he can’t come to with Stiles since being reinstated in his job as Sheriff. It’d taken a lot of convincing and with the help of the Argents, or at least one in particular, they’d succeeded in getting his dad his old job back. Having to go to these appointments with Stiles would risk him his job again, one he so badly needed if anything was severely wrong with him.

Scott’s mom sits by him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, asking him how he’s doing. She’d been in there with him, moral support apparently, knowing he’d be much more comfortable with a familiar face doing some of the work. She’d spotted the abnormality. And it could be an ulcer. They’re just not sure.

Stiles doesn’t know how this is going to work, who’s going to be coming with him. He doesn’t want to tell anyone he’s sick, doesn’t want them to worry. None of his friends can know and he begs Melissa McCall not to tell her son because his best friend shouldn’t have to worry if it’s nothing.

It’s just… well, Stiles has a feeling that it’s not nothing. That it’s something. And that this something is very bad indeed.

* * *

Scott is told anyway.

But it’s for a good reason his dad assures him. There are some appointments that Stiles has to go to that he can’t make because even he recognizes the need for him to keep the job this time. It’s decided that Scott will take him, since all the appointments are made during after school hours, and that Melissa McCall will call the  Sheriff when his son arrives and leaves with news of what happened during the appointment.

It works for Stiles and Scott swears on Allison’s soul that he won’t tell anyone what’s happening. He swears, so Stiles trusts him and that’s that. They’re friends for a reason.

The entire time he’s waiting for Scott to pick him up at his house though? All Stiles can think is that once again, he’s the pale and fragile human that can’t take care of himself, that needs a big, strong, supernatural being to help him out when times get hard. He knows he shouldn’t think like that, that he can’t help being sick, that these things just happen, but it doesn’t make him stop feeling helpless. It’s been two weeks since he found out there’s something the matter with him, two weeks that he’s been avoiding pretty much everyone but Scott. He can’t seem to face Lydia or Jackson who’re happy with each other now that everyone is on the same page and not wanting to kill each other. He doesn’t want to look at Allison because he’s making her boyfriend keep things from her, things that Scott probably needs to talk about. He doesn’t want to talk to Danny, because he’d not even in the loop with anything, and he can’t stand to look at Isaac, Boyd or Erica because they can’t understand, all superior, fast-healing.

He hasn’t seen Derek in weeks on top of that and yeah. Yeah it’s bothering him. He doesn’t really know why.

So it surprises the hell out of him when his black Camaro pulls up outside his house and not Scott’s mom’s SUV. He still walks out to it, but cautiously, and then the window rolls down and Derek says, “Scott can’t make it, get in.”

Stiles sighs. Of course Scott can’t. He doesn’t know what cruel act of fate has done this, but still. Scott can’t make it and Stiles feels naked and alone going into this appointment by himself and it sucks.

He gets into the car, stays quiet for most of the ride until Derek stops at a red light and looks to him. “Something’s off about you,” he states bluntly and Stiles doesn’t want Derek, of all people, to know he’s sick, to see this weakness that he can’t combat. So he gives a shrug and doesn’t answer.

Derek doesn’t bring it up until they’re at the hospital. He looks odd, like his skin is ill-fitting and he doesn’t want to be there, but he still asks, “Do you want me to go in with you?”

And it’s foreign for Stiles to hear Derek actually ask after someone’s well-being, never mind ask if they want support of some kind when he doesn’t even know what it is and Stiles surprises himself by saying, “Yeah.”

Derek just nods while Stiles tries not to die in embarrassment and they get out of the car, both of them walking to the hospital and then up to the main desk. Ms. McCall is there and looks a bit shocked to see Derek but she smiles, because she’s in the know.

“Scott couldn’t make it, I’m sorry,” she says softly to him. “The car broke down and it was being repaired. But I see Mr. Hale here managed to fit you into his schedule.” She looks right at Derek then who suddenly finds the floor interesting. “Thank you,” she says honestly.

Then she gestures for Stiles to follow her and he isn’t expecting Derek to follow but he does. Stiles keeps up a nervous titter of conversation between himself and Melissa, Derek not once speaking, just looking more confused by the second. When she stops outside the door to the room his specialist is going to see him in, she kisses his forehead and tells him that it’s just an informational session and another quick ultrasound so they can get a good picture of what they’re going in after.

Derek’s face goes oddly blank at that and then she leaves and then it’s just the two of them. They don’t say anything, and Stiles just wants to crawl under a rock and die. He wants to start a conversation but for once in his life the words don’t come. Instead, he settles himself at the bed/table that the doctor will be giving him a look at and does his math and English homework as he waits.

When the doctor finally comes, it’s a different one from the first time. This time it’s a woman with long brown hair and a wide forehead. She’s smiling as she introduces herself as Dr. Collins, his specialist for the day. The first thing she does after the routine of checking his blood pressure, pulse and the likes, is ask him how he’s been feeling these past two weeks.

Stiles won’t lie to her. The stomach pains haven’t been going away, he gets so nauseous, but he hasn’t vomited blood again. She seems glad for that but all Stiles can feel is Derek tensing beside him. Which is when the doctor notices he’s there and asks him to leave the room due to patient confidentiality and he does leave and Stiles knows that it won’t make a damned difference. He’ll be able to hear through the door.

Dr. Collins goes on to outline the procedure they’ll be doing on him to get the biopsy sample. She gives him a list of things he can and can’t eat, how he has to be out of school the day before and will be out of school the day of and after to recuperate. There’s no overly long hospital stay needed, not unless something goes wrong and even then she assures him it’s just a standard biopsy procedure. It’s in everyone’s best interest that they find out what exactly is on the lining of Stiles’ stomach. He has to agree with her.

She runs a quick ultrasound after that, getting a good look at the lump inside of him. It’s… it’s kind of gross, actually and Stiles doesn’t look, trying not to shiver at the cold jelly they spread on his stomach for the quick procedure. Dr. Collins finishes soon though, taking snap shots of the lump so that they can see where to enter from to get a piece of it. It’s on his left side, so she says it might be a bit difficult to get at in the place it’s in. Stiles just nods along with her as she helps him clean up and gives him pamphlets and the like. She wishes him well and tells him not to worry too much, seeing as they don’t even know what it is yet.

Honestly? That doesn’t help.

She leaves first, reminding him of his next appointment and then smiling cheerfully and sending Derek back in. Stiles still doesn’t have his shirt on; he’s kind of looking off into space, his ADD mind going on a whirl. They’ve asked him not to take his Adderall during the course of all of this so it doesn’t mess with any of their readings and tests. He’s been so unfocused lately.

Derek’s words are soft and clipped, but they still come out as a sort of angry growl: “Why didn’t you tell any of us you were sick?”

Stiles snaps out of his reverie at that. Derek sounds pissed but more than that, he sounds hurt and a bit betrayed. Like Stiles not telling him is a sign of mistrust when really he doesn’t want anyone to worry about him, not when they don’t need to, not when he’s really not that integral to the group.

“Look, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s-”

“You were vomiting blood,” Derek says calmly coming into his line of vision. “Please explain to me how that’s fine.”

“It was only once!” he points out looking up and wow. Derek is way closer than he thought. Really the guy has no idea what personal space is. Then again, he’s been collapsed on the guy, paralyzed from the neck down. He figures that any reservations either of them have ever had over personal space can just fly out the window right about now. “And besides, it’s not that important.”

Derek looks like Stiles has just said the most stupid thing in the history of the universe. “Stiles. You’re important. You’re Pack. We look out for one another.” Stiles can only blink dumbly at that. He’s… he’s _Pack_? _Really_? Why hadn’t anyone _told_ him, damn-it?! “And you tell us when something serious happens. That explains why you smell different: you’re sick.”

“I smell different?” he asks. Yeah. Out of all of that, that’s all he’s really gathered. He’s important, he’s Pack and he smells funky. Awesome.

Derek doesn’t even look fazed at this question. “You have a scent. Everyone does. Yours is off somehow. Not as strong, slightly stuffy. Sickly, almost.”

“Oh,” he says and swallows hard, and then Derek is staring at his stomach, as if he has x-ray vision – and oh god, Stiles thinks _, does he_? – and can see the … the lump sticking inside of him. Then he’s hauling Stiles up and off the bed/table combo and sliding his shirt over his head and down his body before leading him to the check out area and signing him out with a few short words to Scott’s mom. She gives him a wave before they’re out the door and back in the car, driving off.

Derek doesn’t drop him off at home, just keeps driving as if he’s trying to get his thoughts straight. Stiles is a bit hungry, but he doesn’t say anything, figures Derek just smells it on him or hears his stomach gurgle when he stops to grab them some food. His dad’ll be back in a few hours, so he has some time to spare shooting the shit with the broody werewolf who suddenly decides to grille him on his health issue for no apparent reason.

But he answers the questions that are asked of him and in the end, he’s begging Derek not to tell anyone. Derek looks bewildered. “Why not?” he asks tersely, like Stiles is being the idiotic one. And maybe he is, Stiles doesn’t know, he just doesn’t want Derek to tell.

“Because… because that just means… that just _proves_ that I’m the most – the most _human_!” and no. No that’s not what he wants to say. He wants to say that that makes him the weakest link, the burden.

Somehow, Derek sees straight through his bullshit. “Stiles, this _doesn’t_ make you weak,” he says quietly; not softly, but he is quiet about it. “It does make you human, but not weak. You. Are. _Pack_ ,” and he annunciates it clearly, so that Stiles has no doubt. “We take care of our own.”

And that’s that.

* * *

There’s a weekend between then and when he has to go back to school. And he expects it to be hell. In all honesty, he’s sure it could be worse. He’s sure it could be.

Scott looks like someone slapped him. “So Derek told everyone you were sick at last night’s meeting,” he says as Stiles walks up to him in the hall that morning. Stiles sighs, but he nods. He’s been expecting this.

“Trust me, I know. I got the talk about how I’m ‘a part of the Pack’ and how we ‘look out for our own’,” he says, using the finger quotes when appropriate and everything.

“Well you are,” Scott says, like it’s fact and hell, did everyone know that but Stiles? “And sorry I couldn’t bring you to your appointment. How’d it go?”

“Oh, Derek didn’t tell you? I’m surprised.” Stiles says as they walk to chemistry. He’s so glad the year is almost over. He’s so done with school and now his added illness to add on top of it. It’s too much for him.

Scott just makes a face and really: best faces ever. “No. He said that was your choice if you wanted to keep us updated on appointments or not. He said he won’t divulge that much, just that you need the support and stuff, pretty much. Which I mean, I already knew so.”

And Stiles is… a bit surprised. Well, make that a lot surprised. A bit of privacy and courtesy from Derek Hale? He’s totally going to count his lucky stars.

“It was just a routine thing, telling me what’s going to happen next week when I go in for it. It’s on a Thursday, so I won’t be in from Wednesday to Friday and then there’s the weekend, so really I’ll be back on the Monday after that weekend.” It’s just a set of dates for now, and that eases his anxiety until Stiles remembers that it was just a set of dates for his mom in the beginning too.

He must pale at the remembrance because Scott asks him if he’s ok and he can’t even answer him back. Stiles might be having a panic attack, he can’t really tell because he’s suddenly really sick and can’t think straight. Behind him, Allison has a hand on his back, already caught up and sympathetic. Across the room, Isaac and Erica turn around and send twin worried glances at him. It’s a huge statement coming from Erica. Lydia and Jackson are busy telling people to stop staring and getting their attention off of him and he’s sure he’d appreciate it more if the pounding of his head would stop for just one minute.

It really goes from bad to worse when Mr. Harris starts to yell at him for putting his head down on the desk. Because then, Stiles turns his head to the side, dry heaves and then vomits, the students around him gasping, and gagging and pushing their seats as far away from the mess as humanly possible.

And guess what? In the mess of what once had been his breakfast is the tell-tale red of blood.

* * *

He’s been home for hours by the time that his dad gets home around five. They’d sent him home early, Melissa McCall being kind enough to pick him up before heading for her shift at the hospital.  Stiles had insisted he could drive at his first appointment, but the doctors and his dad had all agreed that he wasn’t going to be driving for a while. It’s for his safety, according to them; he could have an episode in the car or something could happen while he was alone and on the road.

When they say it like that, they have a point, Stiles has to admit.

He’s still surprised when his dad walks in though. The explanation he’s given is that someone owed him, so he got off early.

“People already owe you and you just got back into the position?” Stiles says incredulously. Shit, what kind of place is his dad running there?

Still, the Sheriff just shrugs. “I’m good at what I do,” is all he says. “And they have me on speed dial if anything too important or crazy comes up.” He sits by Stiles where he’s laying down on the couch and rubs the back that’s been turned toward him. “How you feeling kiddo?”

Stiles turns to his dad’s lap and rests his head there, curling toward the older man. He’s not been feeling so hot, actually, just doesn’t want to admit it and he hates himself for the tired sigh it pulls from his dad, that hand rubbing at his head and neck. It’s the same sigh he had as his mother slowly wasted away in a hospital bed. His dad doesn’t deserve this; first with his wife and now with his son. It’s just too much.

“So,” he starts, probably trying to move on from the depressing conversation, “Melissa McCall tells me Scott couldn’t make it to your last appointment. Wanna explain why she told me to trust Derek Hale with my son’s life in a car?”

Oh great, they were going to talk about this? Really? Right now? “ _Dad_ …” he groans.

“Uh-uh, don’t you ‘Dad’ me. Explain,” but he doesn’t sound too upset.

“He’s friends with Scott. He owed Scott a favor. So he took me,” Stiles fibs. Well, it’s the truth, just not the whole one. He’s found it’s easier to lie to his dad by telling the truth.  Whatever works.

“How many times has he been under investigation?” his dad reminds.

“He’s been exonerated!” Stiles points out a bit more passionately than even he thought he could be. But it’s true; has nothing to do with Derek bringing him. Derek Hale is _not_ the bad guy, he wants to yell, he’s the complete _opposite_. It makes Stiles catch his tongue and think about this new revelation he’s just had.

“What’d he do?” his dad is asking and Stiles tunes in to answer.

“He drove me there after picking me up at home, waited outside the room, came in and got me when I was having a bit of a spaz attack and took me out to get something to eat after a little drive,” he admits sleepily. “It wasn’t terrible. He didn’t hold me up at gunpoint and hey, even Melissa says he’s ok.” Then again Melissa McCall knows what’s up, but still.

His dad just sighs. “Stiles, be careful around him. Please, for god’s sake,” he warns. “I will have his ass if anything happens to you because of him.”

“It won’t,” Stiles says, because he’s Pack, but he can’t exactly explain how that’s significant to his dad. Oddly enough, his dad doesn’t say anything about it. Just asks Stiles what he wants for dinner and it shouldn’t be that easy, it normally isn’t.

That’s when Stiles realizes that these aren’t normal circumstances and that his dad is finally agreeing to try Hawaiian pizza with him.

Maybe he really is dying.

* * *

He has an appointment to go to two days before his procedure. Scott is supposed to take him. Stiles says ‘supposed to’ because he also knows that there’s lacrosse practice and while he may have a note to excuse his absence, Scott does not.

So he’s more than surprised when Scott comes up to him and says, “So hey, what time is your appointment today so I know when to pick you up?”

Stiles stares at him and says, “You have lacrosse practice.”

And the look Scott gives him is so insulted he kind of wants to snatch his words from the air and swallow them back. “Um, hello? My best friend is sick maybe to death and you think I’m skipping out on his appointment to go to lacrosse practice? Seriously Stiles?”

And this isn’t right. He gets that Scott is a devoted and an amazing friend for this but Stiles just can’t let him give up his life to help him out just because Stiles is having a bit of trouble with his.  “No. You’re going to practice,” he says with finality.

Scott looks surprised and then like he’s been smacked across the face. “What? Stiles, no. I’m taking you to your-”

“No. You’re going to practice. You’re not gonna give up your whole extracurricular life because of me. No. I can’t be at lacrosse, but you can. So go for the both of us,” he says.

“Stiles, no,” Scott says and he sounds strained, like he doesn’t want to fight with Stiles of all people over this of all things.

“I will not talk to you ever again if you don’t go to practice,” Stiles threatens.

“Stiles,” Scott starts.

“No, I’m serious. Go,” Stiles says. He will not be the cause of Scott not living his life. No. It’s just not gonna fly. He’s not going to drag his friends down with him. It’s just not happening.

Scott looks like he wants to yell, but instead he takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah and who’s gonna take you?”

Stiles shrugs. He hasn’t really thought of that, but he’ll make do. Worst comes to worst, he’ll call his dad. “I’ll call my dad if I really can’t find anyone. Now go get your little werewolf ass out onto that field and practice some lacrosse. Go if you value our friendship. Go!”

Scott is shaking his head but backing up, looking so damn conflicted. “You are so backwards, man,” he says as he turns to walk away. “You better call me when you get there and when you get home,” he insists even as he’s making his retreat. Stiles just agrees, anything to get him to go.

He finds himself outside ten minutes later, his phone in his hand, thinking of people that aren’t his dad to call. He knows Allison is probably watching the practice going on, that Lydia is there too since Jackson’s practicing. Maybe he can steal or ask for the Porsche? Nah. Issac is a no and he, Erica and Boyd usually just get a ride from Derek anyway, so…

Oh.

He doesn’t know how well this is going to go over with him, but he calls the number anyway. He’s been told countless times only to use it for emergencies, and he thinks this qualifies. Stiles takes a steeling breath and then the owner of the number picks up.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Derek growls out and if Stiles didn’t know him, he’d be petrified. As it is, he’s a bit shaken by the pure terror in that voice.

“It’s me,” he says softly into the mouthpiece. He sits back and closes his eyes as he asks, “So, I have another appointment in like, half an hour. You mind giving me a ride?” He’s sitting there, cross-legged on a bench beside the school parking lot and he has never ever felt this vulnerable or needy.

Derek’s voice doesn’t lose it’s venom, if anything, it gets moodier. “Isn’t Scott supposed to be taking you to that?”

“He’s got lacrosse practice,” Stiles explains and when Derek next speaks, he sounds thoroughly pissed.

“Did that little prick seriously ditch you for-”

“No!” Stiles exclaims. “Jesus, no! He threw a fit. I told him to go to practice, literally forced him.”

“Why the hell did you do that?” comes the gruff, incredulous reply.

And how did Stiles ever think this was a good idea? “Because I don’t want him to waste his after school life on me just because I have a _belly ache_!”

The line goes dead at that and Stiles stares at his phone before thinking of whoever else he could call. Maybe he could phone Scott’s mom? Maybe Chris Argent would take some pity on him with his slight condition? He could always call a cab, or hell, maybe he’ll even call his dad this time. Maybe he might have to.

He’s going through his contacts, contemplating calling Danny when he sees a flash of black out of the corner of his eye and when he looks up, the Camaro is right in front of him and the passenger’s side door is open. He doesn’t really know what to do besides get in and close the door, clicking his seat belt as Derek drives off. He’s not even looking at Stiles, eyes focused religiously on the road and it would be scary if his hands weren’t white, they were gripping the steering wheel so hard.

“You’re an idiot,” he says gruffly and Stiles gives a shrug. “And it’s _not_ just a belly ache,” Derek says a bit quieter and this time he _does_ say it softly, like he doesn’t want to say the words since they have so much negative connotation behind them.

“I know,” Stiles says and then shivers. Derek automatically turns on the heat and Stiles has a moment of terror when he realizes that it’s the start of the summer and he needs the heat on because he’s suddenly got the chills. Wonderful. How much worse could this get?

He really wants to slap himself for that, actually. Because he’s probably jinxed it now.

* * *

The look on Melissa McCall’s face is picture worthy when she sees Derek walk in with him instead of Scott. It’s a mixture between worried, confused, irritated and angry. “Where’s Scott?” she asks.

“Lacrosse practice,” Stiles answers and before she can go off on a rampage, he explains, “I told him to. I don’t want him to have to give up lacrosse for me.” He swallows hard, hopes she understands. “So I called Derek. He was fine with taking me.”

She looks to Derek for confirmation, and all he does is nod. She doesn’t push it, just nods back in sympathy and tells him that he has to wait to see the doctor, one of her prior appointments going over time. Stiles and Derek make their way to the sitting room and surprisingly, Derek picks up a magazine and flips through it before stopping on a crossword. He fishes a pen out of the cushion of the chair he’s sitting on and sets to work at it as they wait. Stiles leans into him, looks over the puzzle and casually points out a few answers. Together, as the time passes, they do the crossword. They finish it by the time they’re called in to see Dr. Collins.

The first thing she does is apologize for her tardiness before going through the motions of checking his blood pressure and heart rate. This time, she stares at Derek before asking him if he was a relative.

Stiles doesn’t know how to answer, but Derek cuts in and says, “I’m just a friend.” He gives her a charming smile and something clicks in her mind since her eyes widen and she nods. She gives a small impersonal smile of her own, but she doesn’t ask him to leave. Instead, she turns to Stiles and asks him how he’s been.

He doesn’t lie to her, tells her about his episode and how he’s been getting sensitive to temperature and the likes. She doesn’t look too happy with this news, but writes it all down in her cryptic scrawl. She reminds him that he’s not supposed to be in school tomorrow and that he has a strict diet to stick to for before the procedure. He’s quite aware, he informs her. No, really. He gets it. Eat what he’s supposed to, rest for the day then go in for the procedure the day after. He’s got this. He’s fine.

Still, he has this odd feeling that she knows about his mom because she’s being overly sympathetic and it’s not helping no matter what she thinks. Bringing his mother into this is the last thing that’s going to make him feel better. Talking indirectly about her like he’s not going to notice? No. That’s not going to work either.

When he finally gets let out, Derek has a hand to his lower back, comforting and yet barely there so it’s not overwhelming him after that near run in with a panic attack when Dr. Collins had been speaking too closely about something he did not want to speak with her about. It’s nice, and he’s not surprised that Derek picked up on it all. He’s a werewolf with super senses. Of course he can sense it.

He checks out with Ms. McCall and bids her a good day before he and Derek head back to the car. Derek doesn’t start it, just lets him readjust to the outside world, lets him sit in silence. When he starts the car, Stiles is ready, wonders if Derek could smell it on him. Like the first time, he drives in every direction but toward his house and Stiles likes it, these long drives with Derek, where they don’t have to talk because Stiles isn’t feeling up to it for once, where he  doesn’t have to think, can let his mind wander without worrying. He knows he’s safe.

He’s Pack after all, apparently.

Derek stops in front of his house an hour or so later. Stiles says thank you, tries not to be awkward and gets cut off in his rambling when Derek unexpectedly says, “Call me if you ever need anything… like this,” and Stiles doesn’t know if he means ‘ _this’_ as in doctor’s appointments or ‘ _this’_ as in needing to wind down after all the stress and worry. Maybe both. Either way, Stiles sees it as the olive branch that it is and nods.

“Yeah, definitely, I will,” he says.

Derek gives him an odd look and says, “Will you? Really?” as if he’s testing him, as if he doesn’t believe Stiles and maybe he doesn’t.

Stiles surprises himself as he says honestly, “Yeah, actually, I will.”

Derek looks subtly pleased and if Stiles hadn’t spent the whole afternoon with him he probably wouldn’t have noticed the slight change in expression. “Alright then,” Derek says softly. “We have a meeting tonight. Anything you want me to pass on?”

Stiles thinks it’s actually really awesome that Derek is even doing any of this for him, but he knows that if he voices it, Derek will spook and maybe take it all back and Stiles wouldn’t be able to stand that, oddly enough. He shrugs, as it is, and says, “I dunno. Still alive and kicking?” he suggests with one of his old, quirky grins. “Takes a lot to get a Stilinksi man down,” he adds.

Derek might have actually cracked a smile there. “I’ll be sure to pass it on word for word,” he says dryly. “Don’t worry.”

Stiles gives a real grin then and Derek nods before he drives off, says quickly, “Get some sleep” and then he’s gone and Stiles goes through a stilted explanation over the phone with his dad on why Derek Hale brought him to his appointment again. His dad seems a lot less agitated by it this time around and Stiles wonders if he’s been talking to Melissa McCall lately.

It doesn’t seem to matter as much as his head hits the pillow and he crashes into sleep the second his eyes close.

* * *

He’s bored on the Wednesday before his procedure. He’s trying not to freak out, to eat the things that he’s allowed to, but he’s honestly lost all of his appetite. His dad asks him if he wants him to stick around but Stiles points out that he’s already taking the day after off so he can be there when Stiles is in the hospital and that convinces his dad to just go to work already.

Stiles thinks of all the people he could text, bothering the heck out of them, reminding them of his presence, but he’s not in the mood, really. He listens to music for a bit, does all of his school work so he doesn’t have to worry about it later when he’s recovering. He’s still really glad it’s the end of the year, even though finals are coming up. It’s still less of a work load than usual and for that he’s grateful. But he is bored. He watches a movie or two, gets bored, goes to the bathroom. Stiles decides to take a shower for the hell of it, and he’s surprised as hell when he comes out of the bathroom and goes into his room.

Derek’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shoes off, reading through one of his books of poetry. Stiles sighs and says, “Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, look who broke in!” and Derek looks up, eyes widening in shock as he takes in Stiles, in nothing but a towel. He’s not particularly built, but he knows he can’t look that bad to warrant that kind of expression. “What?” he says.

Derek blinks, looks away and shakes his head. Then he looks back down at the book and says, “Put some clothes on, please.”

Stiles wants to tell him that he will walk around in the nude if he so pleases, this is his house damn-it, but he starts to shiver and walks over to his dresser to grab underwear, warm-up pants and a t-shirt. Derek doesn’t even twitch from his spot as Stiles dresses, his eyes glued to the book the entire time. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s actually reading or if he’s just pretending to as a courtesy, but once he’s dressed, Derek finally looks up.

“Bored yet?” he asks good naturedly, although still a bit broody like.

“Extremely,” Stile responds, plopping onto the bed next to him.

“Freaking out yet?” Derek asks, his tone softer, voice lower.  He puts the book down and Stiles knows he’s looking at him even though his own eyes are closed, hiding him from the world.

“Extremely,” he says in the same tone, clenching his jaw.

“You’ll be fine,” Derek says, like he’s bored, but Stiles can tell he’s just putting up a front. He really does believe Stiles will be fine, and that makes Stiles feel better for some weird reason.

“Yeah,” he says, “I will be won’t I? It’s after the fact that’s kind of freaking me out, finding out what this is. Isn’t that weird? I don’t care if they cut me open and cut off a piece of me growing out of control but I’m totally squicked out about what it _actually_ turns out to be.”

“It’s not weird, it’s natural,” Derek says smartly. And he has a point. Of course Stiles is freaked out by what it might be. Whether or not it’s cancerous. And if it is, how much of it can they remove, if any? Dr. Collins had said it was already hard to get at, just for a piece. What did that mean if it was really killing him?

“Hey, relax, I can feel your heartbeat going a thousand miles an hour from over here,” Derek says and his tone drops again, like it does when he’s spooked one of the Betas with an unintentional Alpha thing, when he’s telling Scott to find his anchor and hold onto her. Stiles nods, regulates his breathing by focusing on the rhythm and pattern of Derek’s and when the werewolf realizes what he’s trying to do, he steadies his own breathing so it’s easier to match.

“Come on,” Derek says once his heart-rate is at something acceptable. “Let’s go watch TV like normal people.”

And Stiles laughs at that, says, “I hang out with werewolves, lizard-people-turned-wolf, and hunters of the supernatural. You happen to be a werewolf. We are not normal. _At all_.”

Derek pushes him onto the couch all the same and clicks the TV on. “So?” he answers, “Doesn’t mean we can’t pretend.” And isn’t that the thing, Stiles thinks as Derek stops on what he’s sure is an old episode of Supernatural, the episode called Heart about werewolves of course. They can totally pretend and they can even believe it for a while. And here, as he watches Derek grudgingly admit that a lot of it is accurate but their ways of killing werewolves are completely idiotic, Stiles can pretend he’s a normal teenager, one that isn’t sick, watching TV that doesn’t pertain to his real, everyday life with Derek, his… his something or other, leaning against him and trying not to fall asleep.

He can pretend, and when he wakes up, hours later, his dad just getting home, he can pretend that he doesn’t feel hollow at the fact that Derek is gone and there’s not a trace of him left to even prove that he’d been around besides the fact that Supernatural is still playing on the TV.


	2. A Leaf Of Grass is No Less Than the Journey-Work of the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pack shows Stiles how much of a part of the Pack he really is, Derek breaks him out of a hospital while simultaneously getting his dad's number and having a civil conversation with the man, and they find out just how bad Stiles has got it. 
> 
> Not necessarily in that order, though. Close enough.

The doctor’s are right when they say that nothing _should_ go wrong. Stiles is right too when he’d said that he jinxed it. The procedure goes fine and they get their biopsy sample. Nothing is bad on that end. It’s just, Stiles reacts badly to the anesthetic and goes into an anesthetic- induced coma.

When he wakes up, it’s to the beeping of machines and he’s in a hospital room, complete with gray scale coloring and uncomfortable bed. He turns his head to the side and checks the little digital clock they have sitting on a little low night table. It’s Tuesday. He’s been out of it for four days and what the hell? Can this get any worse?

He kind of wishes he hadn’t said that as he calls a nurse in,  as they start fussing over him. His dad is called and no one tells him the results of the biopsy, which should be in by now. He takes that as the bad omen it presents itself as and waits the few hours it takes for his dad to get there. He’s in his uniform, but Stiles knows that he’s going into work, not leaving. He’s fresh faced and it’s early anyways.

That doesn’t change the fact that Stiles doesn’t even want to hear what he has to say when the look on his dad’s face goes from bad to worse. “Oh shit,” he swears, trying to sit up in bed, a nurse helping him. His side is sore. He wonders how much of a chunk of his… lump they took.  “How bad?” and then the nurse is leaving and his dad is falling into a plastic chair and this is all Stiles’ fault, isn’t it? He’s never been strong enough for this and now look what he’s done.

“Stage 2 stomach cancer,” his dad grates out and Stiles closes his eyes and wants the bed to swallow him. They have him on some kind of meds, so the pain must be pretty awesome by now. Great. “The – the tumor is… it’s impressive,” is all his dad says. It must say something about how strong his dad is that he’s only pausing minutely, charging into this headfirst. Maybe it’s because he has experience. “When I come back later tonight, Dr. Collins is going to go over our options with us, ok?” and then his dad is next to him and he’s being wrapped in a much needed hug and Stiles just wants it all to be over.

“I’m staying here until then?” he asks and why is everything spinning? Why does it feel like this isn’t real, when he knows it is and he has no choice?

“Yeah, they think it’s best. For observation, after your reaction to the anesthesia,” his dad answers softly, pulling back. He gives stiles a halfhearted smile. “We’re gonna get through this, kiddo. Promise.”

And Stiles wants to believe it. He does. It’s just, he’s really got no hope going for him right now.

* * *

It’s in the afternoon that Scott bursts in with Allison behind him. They’ve both got smiles on their faces that seem a bit too forced but Stiles gives them props for trying anyway.

“Hey man!” Scott exclaims pulling up a chair. Allison opts for sitting on his lap and when they both settle down, Scott says, “How you feeling?”

Stiles snorts. “Like I couldn’t eat an elephant, even if I wanted to,” he admits.

Allison pats his hand. “Weak stomach?” she asks.

“Seeing as I have stomach cancer, yes, I have a weak stomach. If you mean I don’t have an appetite anymore, then yeah, that too,” Stiles snaps and wow, that was rude but really, bad word choice on her part.

The two of them are shocked into silence and Stiles takes a moment to realize that they probably just got out of school. “Shit,” he mutters. “Your mom hasn’t talked to you yet, has she?” he asks Scott.

His best friend shakes his head and clenches and unclenches his jaw. “I… how…” He can’t string together full sentences.

“Yeah, that was me for a few hours after my dad told me,” Stiles concedes. Allison’s hand tightens on his as she purses her lips together trying not to cry and he really can’t look at her face right now if she’s going to be doing that. “Oh god, please don’t cry. I’ve been trying not to cry because I’m too much of a man to cry, but if you start crying Allison, it’s going to get really embarrassing in here.”

She laughs at that, but it sounds strangled and more like a sob. “I’m sorry,” she says and she’s smiling and there’s a tear and Scott is burying his face in her shoulder so Stiles doesn’t see him and shit. Shit. These two are going to be the end of him.

“Seriously you two, leave if you’re gonna cry all over me. I’ll be fine. They can fix this. Well, I mean, semi-fix this. Look, we’re gonna try ok? It takes a lot to get a Stilinski man down,” and then Stiles freezes, because he’s said that to Derek the other day and he can’t take that right now, thinking of the other man. He falls silent and Allison and Scott look up at him.

“Hey, you ok, buddy?” Scott asks, sitting up a bit, shifting Allison in his lap. “You need me to call someone?”

Stiles shakes his head, he’s actually feeling pretty shitty right now, but emotionally so, not physically. “Um, no. No, I just… I thought of something and…” And now he really just wants to be alone. “I think I’m gonna sleep for a bit,” he says, and they get the message, that he needs to be alone for a while. “Come back tomorrow?” he asks. “Bring the others, too,” he adds in. He doesn’t want to make it awkward, but he’s suddenly craving solitude, so they really need to go now.

They do leave, with promises to bring the others in when they come back next. Stiles lays in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. He can’t really sleep, now that he’s trying which sucks because he just wants to not think, not to be aware for a little while. His side is sore, he wants to bury himself alive a bit. He doesn’t know what to think. What’ll everyone say when this gets out? Stiles Stilinski, going out with a bang like his mom. History repeating itself, they’ll say. Whisper behind his back how the nerdy kid bit the dust.

Stage 2, he tries to tell himself. Better than the stage 4 they’d diagnosed his mom with. They can still help him. They tried to help his mom but nothing stuck. They can still help him, but it’s like reliving all of the terror again and he can’t deal with that kind of grief. He can’t.

He’s asleep and he doesn’t even realize it because it still feels like he’s in a nightmare.

* * *

His dad comes by again, and this time they’re joined by Dr. Collins. She goes over their options and there’s talk of chemotherapy and surgery. They want to do radiation first, see if that will stop the growth before it gets too out of control. They don’t want it progressing, she tells him. He’ll be on several different types of medication along with the chemotherapy. She says he’s lucky that there’s only a week and a half of school left. They’ll start him on the meds and chemo now and then after school they’ll plan the operation to start taking pieces of the tumor out. It’s bigger and deeper than they could see on all their scans. It’ll take more than one operation if they can’t reach it correctly.

Stiles absorbs it all, tries to be as involved as he can be. His mom hadn’t been able to make many decisions in the end. She’d just wasted away in a hospital bed and they’d had to watch. He’s not going to let that happen to him. He’s got this odd will to live and you’d think it’d be extinguished with how many times a week he’s almost killed. It kind of fuels it actually. If werewolves, hunters and kanimas can’t get him, he’s not going to let illness do it.

Afterward, they try and get him to eat, but he’s too sick to his stomach to be able to keep anything down. They give him an IV instead, pumping the nutrients he needs into his body that way. It’s a bit embarrassing except for the fact that it’s not. He really can’t help it.

His dad goes off for the late shift after that. He’s planning on telling the people down at the station, making some arrangements so that he has the weekends off.  He drops a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, says that he’s staying in the hospital for the rest of the week, until he can set up some arrangements for home and get his medication. Stiles gets it, he hates it, but he understands. It still sucks to watch his dad go off to work, muttering about a break in on the other side of town. It’s nearing nine o’clock. He can try and sleep.

And somehow, it comes a lot easier now that they have a plan of action to follow.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning around ten and man, he hasn’t slept like that in forever. Well, not counting his little coma stunt, but still. Either way, he knows he’s not in the room alone. He hears someone turning the pages of what could be a book or a notebook and then he hears a familiar voice say, “Plural of fish. I thought it was ‘fish’ but there’s six letters and ‘fishies’ has seven, so…?”

“Fishes,” Stiles says on automatic. “It’s fishes.”

“Which makes seven down Finch,” Derek responds, and Stiles can hear the scratch of the pen he’s using to fill the words of the crossword in. He turns onto his right side, the good side thank god, and sees Derek sitting beside his bed in a gray t-shirt and dark jeans. He has a book of crosswords in his lap and he’s filling things in, probably solving a whole square of it by himself.

“Finch as in the bird?” Stiles asks with a small smile.

“No,” Derek says, “As in ‘Atticus, from To Kill A Mockingbird’.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised that you’ve read that,” Stiles answers him, turning onto his back. He sees Derek put the crossword puzzle book down and give him a worried look out of the corner of his eye.

“So?” he asks, as if he’s demanding to be told what’s up, what they found. And he is, Stiles realizes. No one’s told him. Scott’s left that up to him on whether he wants to tell Derek or not. Seriously, he’d kiss Scott if he was here right now. Best friend ever.

“Um,” and suddenly the words are getting stuck in Stiles’ throat because it’s different with Derek, Derek who’s gone to all of his appointments with him, who’s stayed at home with him, who hasn’t seen him in about a week, who has been the only person to tell him he was Pack, had assured him it was true, that they’re all going to be watching out for him through this. He hates that he doesn’t want to tell Derek, not because it’ll make him seem weak, but because he just can’t admit it to Derek of all people, that he could seriously die easily of this. It’s going to poison his system if the doctors don’t do it first with the chemo and that doesn’t make sense, but he can’t say it.

Stiles swallows a lot and Derek must see that it’s bad because he scoots his chair closer and just sits to listen. He puts the book across his knees and leans forward to the bed. “Stiles,” he says once, and it’s not an Alpha demanding his Pack-mate tell him something, it’s a friend asking his friend to trust him and not to be afraid.

“Um, I’ve got… I’ve got stage 2 stomach cancer,” he spits out, his voice shaking and shit, he might finally cry. Hey, third time’s the charm, they always say. “They’re gonna… gonna put me on meds and chemo before they try and take the t-tumor out,” he wobbles his way through.

Derek has gone stock still and it seems like all the blood has rushed from his face. He’s not moving and Stiles doesn’t know if he should hide under the covers. Suddenly, Derek springs to life. He lets out a deep breath and nods. “Ok,” he says slowly. Then he picks up the crossword and says, “Another word for corn?” as if Stiles hasn’t just dropped a bomb on it. There are no tears or sappy declarations, just Derek turning the book of puzzles toward Stiles so he can see how many letters are in the word.

“Maize,” he says easily and Derek nods, filling it in, figuring out the answers to several other clues. But there’s tension in his shoulders and he’s doing that jaw clenching thing Scott had been doing, so Stiles knows he just holding back the panic. “You ok?” he asks out of nowhere.

Derek’s eyes snap up to his, the pen in his mouth, and then he breaks out into hysterical laughter, laughter that’s on the border of sounding manic, on the border of maybe even sobbing. “You just told me you have an illness that could kill you and you’re asking _me_ if I’m ok?” Derek shakes his head and his eyes look a bit glassy from here. But his voice is steady and there’s no smile on his face. “You need to get your priorities straight, Stiles,” Derek says quietly, and no, it’s not soft. Just quiet

“Well just cos I’m the special snowflake now doesn’t mean you mean any less,” Stiles says like it’s common sense and when Derek just stares at him, Stiles realizes just how that sounded and yeah, he feels like he should be getting embarrassed right about now.

Derek shakes his head though, goes back to the puzzle and they spend the afternoon like that, doing puzzle after puzzle. Derek has to leave at some point, something about talking to Chris Argent about the terms of the fragile truce they’ve got going. He leaves the puzzle book with Stiles though, tells him not to do all the puzzles, to save a few for them to do together. He runs a hand briefly, quickly through Stiles short hair, and Stiles has a feeling as the older man is walking out of his room, that Derek wanted to get a chance to do that before Stiles’ hair was gone because of the chemo.

It’s a depressing thought, actually, so he focuses back on the puzzle until Scott, Allison and the rest of their Pack – minus Derek – come in a few hours later to spend the rest of the day with him. He figures he should be grateful that they’ve come by, that they’re not forgetting about him, but he knows they could be having fun, hanging out without having him dragging their day down. He feels guilty to be the cause of that.

It’s hard for him to believe he’s Pack, that he’s important, that he isn’t holding them all back, when he’s in a hospital bed and, essentially, slowly dying.

* * *

It’s Friday. He’s been out of school for a week and a half, hasn’t been home in just as long. His dad has been in and out with the doctors, planning a schedule of chemotherapy for him, seeing which medication is better to put him on. They want to put him on the chemo first, try to stop the growth so that there’s a better chance it won’t come back when they go to remove the tumor. He’ll be doing therapy once a week for two months to start, to see if that’ll have the desired effect.

Stiles is thankful that there’s just a week left of school. Lydia’s been coming to help him catch up on all the work he’s missed that Scott’s been bringing around. The others have popped in as much as they could. The Betas seem to do it on instinct oddly enough, and they always leave before Derek comes and sits with him for a while, always with the puzzle book or a new one if they’ve finished one off.

But really, he just wants to go _home_.

It’s a Friday and he wants to go home and eat popcorn by the TV or just surf the internet or just laze around but he’s not even feeling up to that. He wants his dad to check him out of the hospital because he’s doing better from the procedure, honest. He’s been away from his place of comfort for too long. Honestly, he’s starting to think a werewolf attack would be better than this.

Derek’s in with him when he starts to sigh. It’s depressing, really.  Just sitting in a hospital room all day, hoping someone will come in and see him. It’s not him, not Stiles, not the happy-go-lucky, free-spirited person he is. He doesn’t thrive in this kind of environment and he can see that Derek is starting to get that.

“You’re dying to get out of here,” he says, not a question. Just a statement as he closes the puzzle book. And is it bad that crossword puzzles and Derek Hale have been the highlight of Stiles’ week?

“I just want to go home,” he says honestly.

There’s a moment of silence and then Derek says, “What’s your dad’s number?”

Stiles sits up a bit, shakes his head. “Now why in the name of everything nerdy and good would I give you my dad’s number?”

Derek gives him a look that says he will eventually get what he wants and that Stiles will have no choice then. He’s giving him a choice now. He’d better take it. “I can always ask McCall’s mom. I’m sure she has it.” And that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. He rattles off his dad’s number, watches Derek enter it into his phone and then the other man walks out of the room and paces the hall as he talks to Sheriff Stilinski.

Derek Hale. Having a civil conversation with Sheriff Stilinski. Shoot him now.

Derek hangs up soon though, walks down the hall in the direction of the reception desk. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he decides not to worry about it and finishes a crossword puzzle all on his own. He’s sure it’s not that badly done.

It’s a bit of a surprise when Derek stalks back in an hour later, a bag in one hand, papers in the other. He tosses the bag on the bed and Stiles’ clothes fall out, prompting his jaw to drop. Derek got him… clothes? Why?

“Um… what?” he says. Eloquent as always Stilinski.

“You’re going home. Do you need help getting dressed?” Derek says, calm and unruffled, like it’s normal.

“Are you like breaking me out or something?” Stiles says as he makes abortive movements towards the bag of clothes. _Does_ he need help getting dressed? Maybe.

Derek looks at him then sighs. “No you idiot. I called your dad and he talked to the people here. I have your discharge papers and Melissa McCall is vouching for us. So don’t die on the way back.” The last part is said tightly, as if Derek really believes Stiles is going to just… just drop dead in his car or something.

“I won’t, Scout’s honor,” Stiles says weakly, holding up a hand with folded fingers. “And um... yeah. I – think I might need a little help. Sorry,” he says as an afterthought.

“I offered,” is all Derek responds with and takes out the underwear first. He helps Stiles stand, still in his hospital gown, and he steadies him as Stiles steps into them. Derek only tugs them up to his knees, because then his hands can reach properly and Stiles is blushing madly and Derek still looks unruffled.

After that, they just take the robe off and Derek helps him get his shirt on straight, his pants on right. Stiles realizes that he’s in a large t-shirt that doesn’t belong to him and his own sweatpants. All comfortable things that he can just collapse into bed in. The shirt smells strongly of Derek and Stiles doesn’t remember when he started to recognize what Derek smelled like, but whatever. Best not to dwell and such.

Derek nods to him when he’s done and then bundles him out the door without another word. They wave to Ms. McCall before they head out and then Stiles is blinking into the sunshine, breathing in fresh air and he might cry damn-it. It’s so wonderful he might fucking cry.

Derek lets him have a moment, then gets him to the Camaro. He drives him home then, letting himself into the house by getting to the spare key. Stiles thinks belatedly that his dad must have told Derek where it was. Huh. He doesn’t actually understand what’s going on with the two of them, but he’s not sure he minds it much. Derek is gentle though, getting him in. He leads him upstairs to his bedroom and turns down the bed before Stiles practically sways and then smashes face-first into the sheets. It’s heaven, absolutely heaven being back in his own room that smells like safety and comfort, except…

Except all he can smell is Derek on the shirt he’s wearing and he thinks for a minute, shit. Derek gave him his shirt because it was more comfortable. He wants to ask. He does. He’s just so tired all of a sudden and he remembers all the medication he has to start taking and Derek is pulling up the covers and suddenly Stiles is almost asleep, so close to being asleep and-

-and Derek hovers, hesitant for a second before there are soft, dry lips on Stiles’ forehead and Derek is kissing him goodnight or good morning or whatever it is, but it’s fast and quick and then he’s out of the room, closing the door slowly and Stiles is asleep, feeling safe and warm and comforted all because of a stupid shirt.

 _Derek’s_ shirt.

* * *

It’s only Saturday when he wakes up, thank god, and the house smells like pancakes. For the first time since he found out, Stiles is actually hungry, so he heads downstairs towards the kitchen. He stops in the bathroom to clean his teeth and pee, which is a bit more uncomfortable than he’d like. It hits him that when he’d been in the hospital, he’d had a catheter. He suddenly appreciates peeing by himself a whole lot more.

In the kitchen, his dad is bustling about with the pancakes. Chocolate chip for Stiles, blueberry for him, and strawberry, which he hasn’t made since his mom died. It’s a bit odd and Stiles clears his throat waiting for his dad to turn around and notice him. When he does, Stiles gives him a tired smile.

“You up and running already kiddo?” he says as he flips another doughy treat on the skillet.

“Um… yeah. You’re home for the weekend?”

“And every other one,” his dad snorts. “Hope you don’t mind, but the people down at the station get the picture. I’m needed here just as much as I’m needed there. They’ll only call in case of emergencies and it’s only during the weekends. They really need me there during the week.”

Stiles sees the pros and cons and just goes for the cons. “What about my appointments? I can’t keep asking Scott to take me,” he insists, uncomfortably realizing that Scott hasn’t ever been to one with him. He keeps that part to himself. No need to voice it out loud.

So it surprises the hell out of him when his dad does just that. “Scott’s never been to one of your appointments,” he says honestly. “And that’s ok. Someone’s volunteered their time.”

Stiles knows who. Can’t believe it, but he knows. And he asks anyway because it’s just that far-fetched in his mind. “Oh yeah? Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid,” his dad says but there’s this odd look of gratefulness on his face that makes Stiles pay attention. “Your new best friend, Derek Hale. He stayed with you last night after he brought you until I came home. And then we… talked.” Which meant his dad had gone all Sheriff on Derek’s werewolf ass and asked him why he’d been so involved in his sick son’s life.  “And then he offered to take you to your appointments when I couldn’t.”

Stiles blinks at him. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And you said yes?” he asks incredulously.

“Not at first. Until I realized that no one else was offering, he’d been doing it anyways and you’d come out alive from it, and…” And now his dad hesitates and Stiles starts to blush because he’s got a bad feeling about this. “And he was in the hospital everyday you were down for the count before and after you woke up,” he admits.

“… _what_? _Seriously_?” Stiles says in pleasant surprise, ignoring the blush. “I must be a special little snowflake then.”

His dad’s head snaps up and he tilts it to the side, a contemplative look coming over his face.  “He… he’s not what I thought he’d be like, from the interviews I mean.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you mean from the _interrogations_ ,” Stiles corrects with a laugh.

“Well, that may be so, but you’re the one who led us to him for that first one,” his dad reminds slowly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, quiet all of a sudden, guilt eating at him. “Yeah. I have to apologize for that still. He’s… he’s really a good guy,” he insists. “Once you get past the brooding. He’s been through a lot.”

His dad shuts off the stove. “You two have quite a bit in common, don’t you?” And it’s the weirdest statement, because it’s true and Stiles hadn’t even thought of it that way.

“Yeah. Yeah we do, don’t we?” Stiles says absentmindedly.

And then the doorbell rings.

Stiles jumps, frowns, then looks at his dad who rolls his eyes with a huff and a laugh. “No, that’s not him, smartass. You have a few visitors who called before you woke up and asked to spend the day with you. Who am I to deny them?”

And then he leaves Stiles to go answer the door. Stiles doesn’t expect his Pack to run in through the door and into the kitchen, the girls exclaiming loudly over the strawberry pancakes and oh, that’s why his dad made them.

“I’ll just be out running errands, call if you need me?” his dad says, then pops out the front door and disappears for the rest of the morning and afternoon.

“Why are you guys here?” Stiles asks, dumbfounded.

Scott throws an arm around his shoulders and laughs. “Dude, you’re Pack. I told you this already. We’re here to keep you some company.” And then Lydia and Erica and Allison are all hugging him and saying (grudgingly for Erica) that they missed him, and Jackson is patting him on the back while Boyd gives him a smile and Isaac unashamedly asks for a hug too, which he gives.

It takes only five minutes for all the werewolves to stop and look at him funny before looking to each other, then Scott. Scott rolls his eyes and says, “Um, dude why do smell like Derek?”

“What?”

“Like, you smell like you took a shower in Derek’s scent. What even?” Scott says with a grin that’s a bit confused.

Oh. _Oh_. “Um… he brought me home last night,” Stiles admits and the wolves nod, waiting for more. “And um…”

“That’s Derek’s shirt,” Erica says with a grin and he could slap her, except she missed him, she said so, so he won’t for the sake of their budding friendship. If you could call it that. You don’t have a choice, you have to like family, after all, and if they’re Pack like they say he is, then they’re family and he really doesn’t have a choice.

Alison’s eyes go wide and Lydia says, “That’s sweet. He dressed you in his own clothes.” But Boyd and Scott are looking at each other oddly and so is Isaac now that he’s noticing it, and even Jackson, so like, really. What the hell?

“What?” he says as everyone crowd’s the table with pancakes on their plates. “What’s up? Why are you all looking at me like I’m Marie Antoinette and I’m about to get my head chopped off?”

Allison is sitting on Scott’s lap, Lydia on Jackson’s and Erica on Boyd’s. Off to the side, Isaac gets a chair for himself and he looks fucking victorious for it. “It’s probably nothing,” Scott offers slowly, eating off of Allison’s plate. “It’s just that… well, wolves… they…”

“Stake their claim,” Boyd says, no nonsense in his voice.

Stiles blinks at them. “I literally have _no_ _idea_ what you two are trying to say. Lydia? Translation please.”

She gives him a sugary sweet smile and oh no. This is gonna be bad, isn’t it? Or at least emotionally scarring. “They’re saying that Derek’s staked his claim. _On you_ ,” she adds and gives a soft laugh when his jaw drops.

“Because he gave me a _shirt_?” Stiles says, his voice up a few octaves in disbelief.

“ _His_ shirt,” Allison says with a shrug.

“That was one of the first things I did with Allison,” Scott admits. “I gave her one of my sweaters.”

And Allison came in with it in the chilly morning, Stiles realizes. He looks around and sees it now. Erica is wearing a leather jacket, sure, but it’s bigger and black instead of brown. It’s the one Boyd usually uses. And he remembers Jackson giving Lydia his lacrosse coat the other day. He didn’t see her give it back.

“And I gave my extra jersey to Danny,” Isaac says quietly from his seat.

Everyone snaps over to him, and Jackson says, “Dude, you imprinted on my best friend? Get the hell out!”

Isaac throws him a wink and then all the attention is off of Stiles and onto him. Stiles has this odd feeling that Derek talked to Isaac, told him to watch out for Stiles if anything like this happened. He appreciates it, but he doesn’t want to think about what any of it means, not really.

He’d much rather think about Danny and Isaac as an item, thanks very much.


	3. Writing And Talk Do Not Prove Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Scott is a good friend, Allison saves the day from all the awkward, Stiles starts chemo, Derek takes one step forward and two steps back while shoving his foot so far into his mouth that it might be there permanently, the sheriff and Derek plot behind Stiles' back and Stiles loses his hair.
> 
> Obviously not in that order, but who needs order?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some people having a problem with the use of the word 'potato' to briefly describe Scott at one point in the story. I have only found it used once in this and changed it. If anyone finds it again or if I missed another use of it and it bothers you, please voice your discomfort and I will gladly change it for you. 
> 
> I formally apologize to those that found the descroption offensive. I was completely inaware of the negative connotation the word 'potato' had besides my thought that it meant Scott was useless when wrapped up in Allison world. As I said to those offended I was honestly unaware and since several people complained I did change it and do give a heartfelt apology to any of those offended. My writing is not meant to bring discomfort and he fact that it did makes me feel terrible. If you thought I was being rude, again I apologize i really was 't and didn't mean to be. I truly hope that you will continue to read this story despite the mistake i have made and that you will continue to give my writing a chance despite this speedbump in my writing. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

The end of the school year goes by in a flash, finals coming and going. He takes Lydia shopping for helping him catch up and studying with him. Stiles would never have been able to pass if she hadn’t. She’s just happy to be getting out to the mall. And yes, it’s a 24 hour Macy’s.

Unlike everyone else, Stiles isn’t looking forward to the summer. He’s got a full schedule of chemotherapy and medication in his future. Then his mind supplies that Derek will be there the entire time and Stiles unashamedly relaxes and yeah, ok. He thinks he might be able to deal. After all, he’s still got that shirt, the one he sleeps with (shut up Scott, it’s not funny, you jerk), and Derek hasn’t come back for it. Actually, Stiles hasn’t seen Derek since that Friday he dropped him off at home and stuck around to strike a bargain with his dad.

He tries not to get all nervous when he gets picked up at the house for his first appointment. He didn’t tell any of the others the date since he didn’t want them worrying or asking to go. He kind of wants to do this thing alone, even though he wishes his dad was there or hell, even his mom even though that’s impossible. He’s in sweatpants again and the t-shirt under a hoodie, so maybe Derek won’t see it or smell it, since it’s been through a couple of washes since Derek shoved him into it. He hadn’t had the heart or guts to ask Scott or one of the others if it still smelled like him.

“Well you’ve certainly made yourself scarce,” Stiles comments as he sits in the passenger’s side seat.

Derek drives away and says, “You eat breakfast?”

“No,” Stiles says, then explains when Derek gives him a venomous stare and looks away from the road. “Oh my god they told me not to eat before I went and I just woke up. Look at the freaking road you nut-ball!”

Derek’s eyes return to the road and he stays silent the whole ride to the hospital. They’re in a different wing of it this time, although Ms. McCall is still there to greet them and lead them to their room. She looks at Derek once they’re settled and says, “Unfortunately, you can’t be in the room with him when they’re doing his therapy.” There’s a frown on her face. “I know it won’t hurt you, but they don’t know that, so it’s best not to start trouble.” She looks to Stiles. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Derek looks a bit tense at that, but Stiles just shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, then smiles at her. “I’m a lone rider anyway.” Which isn’t true because he’s Pack now apparently, and Derek gives him a dubious look when she leaves. “I meant it like, metaphorically. I get it, I get it. I’m ‘ _Pack’_.”

“You don’t sound like you believe it,” Derek says and yeah, he’s frowning now too.

“Maybe I don’t,” Stiles finally admits aloud. “Maybe I don’t see why any of you should bother since I can’t do the things you guys can do, and I’m not super smart or immune like Lydia, or an amazing hunter and good with a bow like Allison.”

There’s a hand briefly on the back of his neck and Derek gives a squeeze before saying, “Well maybe we don’t need another one of them. Maybe we just need another one of _you_.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, just swallows hard and tries not to whimper when Derek has to leave, although he can watch from another room, and he has to go through the new agony that is chemotherapy.

He just clings to those words whenever he feels like he’s going to throw up. It helps, but not much.

* * *

It’s the worst thing Stiles has ever been through and he’s nauseous and weak for the rest of the week. Derek sticks around every day from noon until his dad comes home, not wanting to leave him alone after Stiles almost passed out the day of the chemo when they got home.

That had been a Monday. It’s Thursday now, and he’s sitting on the couch, watching Scrubs or something like it, maybe it’s General Hospital, when Derek comes in. Stiles is in Derek’s shirt and his own sweatpants and he’s too tired to feel embarrassed by it. He didn’t sleep well last night. This brings him comfort. Sue him.

Derek shrugs off his jacket for the first time in like ever, and plops down next to Stiles, a little frown on his face. But then again, he’s always frowning, so. “Scott hasn’t seen you since school ended,” is what he starts with. “Why?”

“Why do you care?” Stiles asks sleepily. Oh now he gets tired. Great. Thank you, The Universe.

“Because he’s mopey and sloppy during training and this time, it’s not Allison’s fault. Apparently, you won’t return his calls or his texts,” Derek says, sounding a bit pissy, but, oddly enough, not at Stiles but at Scott. “I told him to leave you alone. He’s worried though.”

“I don’t wanna talk to any of them,” Stiles says, because he’s feeling extremely weak right about now and he’d literally toss himself off a bridge if any of them saw him like this. His phone starts to buzz and Derek checks it, then goes to the kitchen. It’s not a call or text this time; it’s an alarm for his medication.

Derek comes in with a glass of water and a few plastic bottles, then shakes out the pills and hands them to Stiles. Stiles doesn’t know how Derek knows exactly what he’s supposed to take and the dosage, but he’s happy that he does because he honestly doesn’t feel like getting up and checking.

“Thanks,” he mutters and swallows them, one at a time, in correct order.  He wants to gag, even though it’s not so bad, he wants to gag because he knows what they’re for and he just doesn’t want it.

He lays back after that and Derek takes the bottle away without having to be asked to. Then he gives Stiles a closer look and that might be a smile twitching up at the corners of his mouth. “You still have that?” and he fingers the shirt, right over Stiles’ ribs.

“S’comfy,” Stiles mutters, trying to watch the TV.

“Now _that_ I don’t doubt,” Derek says in response. He frowns then. “Hungry?” Stiles shakes his head. “Tired?” Stiles nods. “Bored?” He shrugs. “Explain.”

“I’d like to do something, but I don’t have the energy,” Stiles admits quietly. “So it’s not that much of a loss, you know?”

“You could have the others over. You can’t avoid them forever,” Derek says a bit sternly, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“I can put it off for as long as possible,” Stiles whispers and Derek doesn’t respond, just moves a bit closer to him on the couch and watches TV in silence with him.

An hour later, Derek gets up and stretches. “I’m hungry and I’m forcing you to eat. Any requests? Because either way you have to eat it, so I’d rather it be something you at least like a little.”

Stiles shakes his head; at this point, he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he does need to be force fed a bit. It’s not like he minds much. He knows he has to keep his strength up. The afternoon goes by in comfort for him after that, Derek bringing over some kind of soup he cooked up with a bottle of water on the side. It’s warm and fills him up, so that he can only have one bowl and half a turkey sandwich Derek scrounged together. There’s offhanded talk about needing to do groceries and then Stiles just wants to sleep.

He leans back against the couch cushions, turns his head to the side as he presses back.  And then there’s a wall of warmth beside him and he hadn’t even realizes he was cold. Stiles turns to look and Derek’s just pressed beside him, still watching TV. Derek is warm and solid and Stiles is about to protest before he realizes he likes where he is and he falls asleep like that.

He’s woken when Derek moves, except Stiles realizes that he’s not moving, that Derek is moving him, picking him up while trying not to jostle and wake him. He’s half awake, so he lets Derek get away with it; he’s not sure he’d want to walk up the stairs in his exhausted state. Stiles unconsciously nuzzles at Derek’s neck and maybe he’s dreaming, but he’s sure that Derek nuzzles back. He’s being laid into bed the next second and Derek is covering him with blankets, knowing he gets cold at night.

Stiles shivers then, gives a whole-body shiver, the sudden cold wracking his body. It’s the worst thing ever and he lets out a little gasp. He feels Derek freeze above him and he can literally taste the hesitance in the air coming from the other man. But then, Derek seems to make peace with himself and he’s pulling back the covers. Stiles is pretty sure that’s tantamount to what he’s been trying to do, but then that same heat from the couch is at his back and holy shit. Holy shit, Derek is snuggling in bed with him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Derek wraps an arm around his waist and pulls Stiles close to his chest and says, “Shut up, Stiles.”

So Stiles doesn’t say anything. Instead he presses back to Derek’s chest, getting a surprised huff out of the older man. He trusts Derek to get the hell out of Dodge when his dad comes home. No matter how much the Sheriff is warming up to Derek, Stiles has this weird feeling that he wouldn’t be too keen on him snuggling with his only, cancerous son.

Stiles doesn’t fall asleep immediately, can’t help but be at a loss. He doesn’t know what it means, what Derek’s been doing for him, what Derek is doing for him. He feels like he needs to say something or else he’ll lose this moment but he just doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want it to be meaningless, wants it to count.

And then he has it, and it’s so simple really. He takes a deep breath, then Stiles says into the dark, “Thanks,” and Derek’s arm tightens around him and he tucks Stiles’ head under his chin and lets out a shaky breath.

* * *

A few weeks later, Stiles come out of the shower, runs his hands through his hair in frustration and then sits on the toilet, staring at his palms. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He’d been going to his weekly chemo sessions and they’d bumped it up to twice a week. He was done for the week thank god. And now… now _this_. He doesn’t know what to even do. He can’t move, can’t think. It’s… it’s reality really. And he hates it.

He must be in there for a while, because his dad starts to knock on the door and when he tries the handle, it’s locked. “Stiles,” he says and he sounds annoyed. “Stiles open the door please.” He tries again and Stiles doesn’t move, just looks at his hands. There’s silence and then when his dad speaks again, he sounds worried. “Stiles? Stiles are you alright? Did something happen? Stiles!”

Stiles doesn’t answer. He’s having an out of body experience right now, he’s sure. Something’s wrong with him. He can’t. He just. He can’t.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. It’s a while before his dad tries again. “Stiles. Stiles I have to go to work, would you open the door? Stiles-”

“What’s wrong, what’s going on?” And that’s Derek. Wow. When did Derek get here?

“He’s been in there all day and the door is locked,” and his dad sounds conflicted, worried sick. “I don’t even know if he’s-”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Stiles,” Derek says, addressing him through the door.  “Stiles could you open the door, please? Stiles.” And Stile can’t because the moment he wants to move he feels sick to his stomach because of what’s on his hands.  Oh god, this is so bad. He can’t even breathe right now.

“I’ll get him out, I promise,” Derek says to his dad outside the door, and it’s all fuzzy in his ears. “You need to get to work.” And at that moment, his dad’s radio explodes with static and voices are calling him in, reporting a car crash on the main boulevard. His dad goes then because it’s silent for a while and the downstairs door slams and then it’s just him and Derek.

“Stiles. Stiles I’m going to break down the door if you don’t open it,” Derek says dangerously and there’s a growl at the end of that. And Stiles still can’t move, but he feels the hysteria clawing its way up his throat and he can feel himself tearing at the seams and oh god. Oh god he’s going to scream, he’s hyperventilating but he can’t move and-

“Stiles? Stiles! You’re having _a panic attack_ Stiles, let me in. _Stiles_. Stiles I’m coming in!” he shouts in the end and then there’s a crack as he snaps the lock and forces the door open with a bang. Stiles doesn’t even flinch, his hands bunched around something, _somethings,_ and then Derek is kneeling in front of him, hands gentle around his wrists and Stiles is struggling to breathe right.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths,” Derek is saying softly, rubbing his bony wrists. “Focus Stiles, relax, please.” His voice is calm and steady, confident and low. Stiles latches onto that, zeroes in on it until he’s where he needs to be and he looks up into light, hazel eyes. “Better?”

Stiles nods. Then he catches sight of his hands again and he chokes on a sob. Derek looks worried for a minute before he looks down too and he swallows. He must not have noticed it before, too focused on stopping Stiles from hyperventilating and passing out. “Stiles…”

“It’s all coming out,” he sobs. And it is. His hands are covered in his own _hair_ and as he goes to rake his fingers through it again, he comes away with clumps of it. Oh god. It hits him just how bad this all is, how sick he’s gotten and he’s suddenly sick to his stomach. He doesn’t _want_ to go through it.

“I know,” Derek says quietly, like he can read Stiles’ mind. He sounds like he understands, finally knows the reason Stiles hasn’t left the bathroom all day, the reason he had a panic attack.  “I have an idea,” he says lowly and Stiles blinks the tears out of his eyes, his ears burning in some kind of belated embarrassment.

Derek gives his wrists a quick squeeze before standing up silently and goes to get Stiles’ dad’s electric razor. He plugs it in, turns it on, then stands in front of Stiles. “C’mere,” he says gruffly, with no malice. Stiles leans forward and presses his forehead to Derek’s chest as the older man runs the razor over his head. His neck starts to scratch as his hair falls from his head, this time deliberately, Derek taking his time getting behind his ears. Stiles’ hands come up to wrap around Derek’s waist as he just breathes through it.

The razor goes off after that, and then Derek is putting it away, brushing the hair off of Stiles’ shoulders. His fingers are warm against the now-bare skin of Stiles’ head and he swallows hard as he looks up at Derek. He buries his face in the older man’s chest again, taking shuddery breaths because he feels safe here, ok? Sheesh.

Derek seems a bit lost as to what to do with his hands before he settles them on Stiles’ shoulders. He doesn’t push Stiles away – thank god,  Stiles doesn’t know what that would do to his weakened confidence at this point –but he may push the younger boy a bit closer.

They don’t say anything for a while and then Stiles looks up and Derek looks down and Stiles wonders if he’s going to kiss him. If Derek is going to get closer and kiss him like Stiles has been hoping he would all this time, for a long time and he doesn’t want to break this fragile thing they’ve got going but he really, really wants a kiss, and when he arches up a bit and Derek goes lower, their lips almost brushing, Stiles thinks: Finally, thank god, I’m not alone in this.

Until Derek pulls away and says softly, “Stiles, no.”

And can Stiles blame him, realistically? No. No he can’t. Because he knows what he looks like, a sick, scrawny, bald kid who’s too pale and too weak, not enough for anything or anyone and he gets that, hell, he’s not even mad. Just… just so _disappointed_ , you know? He pulls back a bit, nods, gives a tired smile and says, so Derek knows he’s not mad or anything, he says, “I get it,” and gestures to himself with another nod.

There’s a terrifying growl from Derek then and suddenly he’s not sitting on the toilet, Derek is and he’s in Derek’s lap and Derek’s got him all wrapped up in his arms and he’s panting against Stiles’ neck and holy shit what the hell just happened?

“No,” Derek growls and that shouldn’t be a turn on, should it? “Not because of that, not because of you, because of me. Because the _wolf_ , “and another feral growl rips from his throat and Stiles feels the prick of claws before they’re gone and Derek is shaking. “I can’t… I can’t control it like I used to, that’s all. I’m _not_ risking you for that. I…” He trails off. “I like you, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks. “You… you like me.”

“I like you.”

“Like _, like me_ like me or like, like me as a _person_ , or…?”

Derek gives a growl. “I like you Stiles.”

“Oh,” shit, Derek likes him like that. Oh goodness. Oh thank god. Ok. So all of this, all this caring it makes sense. Derek doesn’t feel bad for him, no, oh no. He likes Stiles. He means it, he means all of it. And that’s such a relief. He’s spent all of this time thinking he was a charity case and Derek… Derek likes him. But wait a minute…

“So you don’t… want to be with me because you think you’ll hurt me?” Stiles says quietly. “Well that’s just stupid, I know you won’t hurt me.”

Derek gives a harsh, tired laugh. “You have no idea just how gentle I’m being with you right now, do you?”

“…um…no?”

Derek’s hand tightens on his arm. It pinches a bit. “This is how I hold regular humans,” Derek says darkly in his ear. His grip tightens and now it hurts. “And this is how I hold wolves, like me. This is my actual strength.” And then he lets go and Stiles lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as Derek rubs his reddened skin. Stiles thinks it might bruise; he’s not upset though, he gets why Derek did it. To prove a point, that Stiles was being an idiot. “When I’m touching you, I feel like I’m handling paper-thin china and I am so, so afraid that I’ll break it. Break you.”

“Why can’t you control the wolf anymore?” Stiles asks burying his face in Derek’s neck because it’s comfortable, because he _can_.

“My anchor won’t hold,” Derek admits grimly, a bit ashamed Stiles can tell.

“And your anchor is…?”

“Anger,” Derek growls out, but then the fight goes out of him and it’s just his soft breath panting against Stiles’ neck.

“And me being sick… that doesn’t make you angry?” he asks, a bit hurt, a bit put out and disappointed by that.

“No,” Derek says quietly, “No it makes me feel…weak. _Helpless_ , frustrated. Because I can’t _fix_ this. I can’t.” And he doesn’t sound angry. He just sounds defeated and that’s worse, because Stiles feels defeated but Derek acts as if he actually is.

“Find a new anchor,” he says. Derek grunts, as if to say that it’s not as easy as that. “Use… use _me_?” Stiles suggests quietly. “I mean, I know thinking of an extremely scrawny, sick kid with no hair isn’t anyone’s idea of an anchor, but um, I think… if you want to. It might help.”

He feels Derek shuddering, as if he’s going to turn but then it just stops, not like before when Derek said he was defeated, but like… like he’s just gotten a hold of himself. Stiles feels the strain in Derek’s muscles as he tries and battles with the wolf side of himself, wrangling with it to submit. Stiles doesn’t know if Derek is using him or not, he just knows that Derek is struggling and all he can do is stroke up and down his hand.

And they’re in a bathroom, his hair is on the ground – Derek has saved him from that nightmare, thank god, bless his werewolf soul – and Derek is struggling with his wolf-side. He could kill Stiles if he doesn’t get a hand on it. Stiles trusts that he won’t.

It takes a few minutes,  or it could be hours, time just seems to blend together these days, but Derek finally relaxes and hugs Stiles to his chest as he takes shuddering breaths. When Stiles looks up, he’s met with hazel eyes, not red ones. It’s a relief. Derek doesn’t say what he did, what he used, he just helps Stiles out of the bathroom and to the couch downstairs. He disappears for a few minutes, cleaning up the mess of hair in the bathroom and when he comes back, he snuggles down with Stiles on the couch and they don’t watch TV, they don’t speak, they don’t sleep, they just lay there and exist and it’s so much better than anything else Stiles can think of right now.

There is no place he would rather be than in this moment.

* * *

It’s Saturday. Stiles is in bed. Alone. It’s not so bad, he muses to himself as he gets dressed on shaky legs using weak arms to clothe himself. He goes to the bathroom, runs through his morning routine. Tries not to notice the fact that he has no hair, that it won’t make an attempt to grow back for a very long time. He’s going to have to learn how to be ok with that.

When he heads downstairs, it’s to his dad half-way in his uniform and Derek making coffee and what smells like eggs and bacon. Stiles just takes a seat, tries not to read into the fact that Derek must have stayed the night if his clothes are anything to go by. They’re the same ones from the night before; there are small clumps of Stiles’ hair attached to his shirt-sleeves as proof.

He gives his dad some credit, seeing as the man doesn’t jump or choke on his coffee when Stiles comes down with no hair, looking scraggly and bedraggled. He merely appraises him and then gives a small smile, saying, “I like the new hair-cut.”

Stiles can only smile back. Only his dad could make a lame joke of this and end up making him feel better. “Thanks. You’ve got Derek to thank. He’s an awesome barber, you should let him do your hair one of these days. Looks like you’re in need of a trim, Dad.”

And all the Sheriff can do is chuckle and say, “Nicely done, Mr. Hale.”

“And I thought I asked you to call me Derek,” Derek says softly by the counter.

“Is he always this serious?” his dad asks him with a little shoulder bump as Stiles joins him at the table.

“Unfortunately,” Stiles answers, and Derek looks over his shoulder quickly, making Stiles rethink that thought. Derek is very serious, except when he’s not, except when he’s trying to make Stiles smile, or keep his mind off the chemo, or make him fall asleep so he sings some off-key lullaby that used to get sung to him when he was a cub. Derek is serious when he’s not being sweet, and loyal, and thoughtful and protective and an asshole, and considering that that’s a lot of things to be, he’s not so serious all the time. Only when it counts.

Stiles keeps quiet, watches the way Derek moves, how he’s so confident, how his rhythm soothes the aches in Stiles’ joints, how his muscle relaxes Stiles’ abused ones. Derek is a well-oiled machine and Stiles is broken down and sick, but if there’s anyone that can lend him a hand, it’s Derek. And he’s just found out the other man is more than willing.

Derek somehow manages to convince the Sheriff to stay for breakfast, not with his words, but with the food he puts down on the table in front of him before he can get a chance to rush off without it. His dad looks a bit peeved until he reluctantly tries something and then he’s smiling sheepishly at Derek, complimenting him. Derek doesn’t smile, but Stiles can see the corners of his eyes crinkling, so he’d mind as well be.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” Stiles says softly, too low for his dad to hear, but Derek picks it up with his werewolf hearing, the sound as clear as if Stiles had been sitting right next to him. “I’d have thought that you cooked everything in your little werewolf Easy-Bake Oven,” Stiles continues and he can’t help but smile. The comment actually gets a bit of a smirk from Derek and the Sheriff can only look between the two of them and wonder before he realizes that he probably doesn’t want to know.

Stiles is a bit surprised when the doorbell rings right before his dad is getting ready to head out the door. Not only does his dad look super guilty, but so does Derek, surprisingly. The Sheriff stutters something along the line of going to get the door and seeing who it could possibly be while Derek takes advantage of his absence and curls his hands around Stiles’ fingers across the table.

“Look, I suggested it, you’ve been alone with just me and your dad for over a month and that’s not healthy,” Derek says as Stiles hears voices. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me, not your dad.”

And then Stiles realizes he recognizes both the new voices. Scott and Allison. Oh my god, Derek invited Scott and Allison over, no, no, no. They couldn’t see him like this, not like this, not when he was so weak and beaten. They didn’t have to go through watching him waste away like Stiles had had to do with his mother. He’d been staying away from them for their benefit as much as his.

“No,” Stiles says, shocked a bit as he hears his dad chatting the two teens up in the hallway. “No, you didn’t. Derek how could you- No!” And he yanks his hand out of Derek’s unsuspecting, yet strong wolf-grip. Stiles recoils from the shock of it, his whole chair rocking back and then it’s crashing down and he’s thrown to the floor and holy shit, ouch. Ouch that literally hurts like a bitch he wants to absolutely fucking die because ouch. He’s too frail for falling off of things and slamming into the hard, tile floor.

But Derek’s there in a heartbeat, yanking him up and whispering nonsense in a harried, worried tone of voice. He sits Stiles on the kitchen table, rubbing at his bruises, muttering, “Should have told me you were going to do that, would’ve let go, you idiot, _you idiot_.” Everything is spinning and goodness, Derek’s getting mad, and possessive and agitated and his eyes are flashing red, his claws coming out, his teeth getting pointy. Stiles’ dad is still in the house, he’s unprotected, _Stiles_ is unprotected and Derek needs to calm down.

“I’m ok, I’m alright,” Stiles says hurriedly. “Derek, Derek relax, I’m ok. I’ll bruise, nothing that bad.” He’d been lucky he didn’t break a bone, actually, but Derek didn’t need to know that. “Derek, it’s _not_ your fault. Look at me, _hey_. _Look at me_ …” And Derek does and he’s wild and fighting and Stiles just frames Derek’s face with his thin, pale hands and presses their foreheads together and breathes steadily, letting Derek match his pace. “Relax.”

Derek does relax, eventually. And then the wolf is gone and he’s swearing and apologizing and Stiles is just… he’s just resting there, against him, letting him worry and fret over him and then Derek is too, too close and he says, “I thought of you.” And it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, but Stiles knows, knows that Derek used him, _Stiles_ , as an anchor, and it fucking worked. He’s not mad at Derek for bringing Scott and Allison over anymore, they were going to have to find out eventually, but he’s not done with Derek yet. Oh no, he’s really not.

Their faces are close so Stiles leans forward and awkwardly presses his lips to Derek’s in the most chaste kiss in the history of kissing, he’s sure. It lasts a second and it feels a lot like forgiveness, strength and hope, and then Scott and Allison and his dad are rushing in and Derek is about a foot away so as not to set the Sheriff off to any suspicious behavior.

“We heard the chair fall and…” Scott trails off, getting a good look at Stiles for the first time since school ended. Stiles knows he looks bad, hell, he had to look at himself in the mirror in the bathroom this morning, thanks very much. So he knows. He just didn’t think it was that bad, but if he were just seeing himself after having been seen healthy and happy at the end of school, well, he might be pretty shocked too. Also Scott’s his best friend. He’s allowed to be honest, he gets a free pass in honesty and stupidity when it comes to Stiles.

“I know I look like a walking skeleton, literally. I could be the poster child for Jack Skellington and Sally the Rag Doll from the Nightmare Before Christmas’s kid, if I wanted to be. And no one could take the role from me,” Stiles jokes, breaking the awkward tension.

Scott blinks. “No, I mean… kinda. I mean…” And then he just goes up to Stiles and hugs him because this is his best friend and Stiles may not have hair anymore and he may be pale and a bit gaunt and he may have lost some weight – and by some, he means like, almost 20 pounds which, hello, he’d been a bean-pole before, so this wasn’t helping – but he’s still Scott’s best friend and no amount of sickness or damage could change that.

Of course, Scott has to ruin it by whispering to Stiles, “Dude why do you smell like Derek again?” and Derek hears because he coughs a bit and goes to tell Stiles’ dad that he’s fine, just took a tumble from the chair and yes he can go to work and stop worrying because no, Derek won’t leave the three of them alone in the house just in case something bad happens.

Holy shit, his dad is relying on Derek Hale and trusting him. Who’d have thought he’d see the day?

Speaking of the three of them, Allison takes that as her cue to squeeze herself between them to give Stiles  a hug of her own. She gives him a smile that makes him drown in her dimples and then she holds up a box and says, “So, I brought Apples to Apples. Because Scott can be boring and I didn’t want to bore you and we missed you!” she says, all in one breath and then she hugs him again, the box sticking him in the ribs and yeah. His best friend has an awesome girlfriend, whom Stiles considers a friend too, and then she’s talking to Derek and being civil and downright inviting and welcoming and that gets her extra points in Stiles’ book.

Allison is pretty awesome and it’s just like her to diffuse all that tension in the room with a few smiles, hugs and words that come so easily and naturally to her.

As they’re heading to the living room to set up the game and sit around and talk about the new developments in Stiles’ life, Scott backs him up into a corner and says, “Ok. I’m just gonna say this once ok?” And Stiles nods. “Derek’s my Alpha, more so than yours or Allison’s, but he’s my Alpha and we’re connected in a way so that I can get a mild feel for his emotions and how he’s kinda feeling. With me so far?”

“Ooookaaay,” Stiles says, dragging it out. He kind of wants to get out of Scott’s little corner here, but he’ll listen if that’s what it takes. “Your point please, if you have one that is.”

Scott sighs, like it’s the most obvious thing and maybe it is for a werewolf. “My point, which I do have, thanks very much, is that I’ve never sensed Derek feeling this… this…” And he struggles for a word, grasps it and smiles when he does. “I’ve never seen him this at peace or at rest, man. And… well…” He clears his throat. “Thanks I guess? When your Alpha’s calm, so are you. Pack mentality,” he explains. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Because he’s happy, and – and _you’re_ happy. And that’s what counts.” And then he smiles and gives Stiles a friendly cuff while carefully watching him as they head back to the living room.

And all Stiles can think is that he hasn’t been doing anything special besides, well, being him. Being him around Derek, and accepting Derek and _wanting_ Derek and _oh_ , ok. _There_ is it. Maybe Derek’s never really had that in his life. Actually, he most likely probably _hasn’t_. Stiles doubts that anyone has _ever_ given Derek that kind of chance without an ulterior motive.

As he settles on the couch beside the Alpha, who’s trying not to make eye contact but Stiles can feel the way Derek’s muscles relax when he wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulder, Stiles has to feel a bit proud of himself. He’s sick and down for the count, not magical or supernatural in any way, shape or form and he can still _somehow_ get an Alpha to pipe down and be content for a while.

He’ll take that over Derek being angry and lost and hurt any day. Hell, he’ll give an arm and a leg for it. Stiles takes a minute to realize that he’s almost kind of sort of giving up his life for it, seeing as he’s accomplishing all of this while seriously ill, and really, he finds that he doesn’t mind much. He doesn’t know when it happened, but Stiles has somehow at some point decided that he finds that Derek is a lot more important to him than he is to himself.

Well, would you look at that. What a wonderful time for self-discovery.


	4. I Shall Be Good Health To You Nevertheless and Filter and Fibre Your Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles talk, Stiles gets worse, Stiles breaks down and mood swings like fuck, the Sheriff and Derek talk and the Sheriff gets a name. 
> 
> In that order.

“So are we not gonna talk about it?” Stiles says into the silence of the living room. It’s been, oh, two weeks since the Most Awkward Kiss In The Universe, as he likes to call it. Derek hasn’t brought it up, so Stiles hasn’t. Now, they’re once again in his living room, Stiles wrapped in blankets leaning on one of Derek’s shoulders. They’d just come from one of Stiles’ appointments and there hadn’t been any talk about that. They’d agreed to wait until Stiles’ dad came home from work. There were a few things they had to discuss.

“I’m going to assume that you don’t mean this afternoon,” Derek says quietly. He’d been pretending to watch TV while really watching Stiles. Stiles is used to that.

“Correct,” Stiles responds and shifts in his blanket to look at Derek’s face. The older man is looking at the TV, his jaw clenched. “Do you know what I’m even referring to?”

Derek sighs and thumbs at the remote, the television going black. He turns to Stiles, his face blank. “I know exactly what you’re referring to. I’m not an idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Stiles says weakly, a small smile on his face. “So?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“There was kissing,” Stiles prompts.

“No, not really,” Derek says softly.

Stiles thinks he’s going to throw up. Derek said he liked him, damn-it. Why is he changing his mind?  “ _What_? No that was _definitely_ kissing.”

Derek’s face scrunches up and then smoothes out as he says, “ _Oh_ ,” softly under his breath. “I didn’t mean…” He scrubs a hand through his hair then moves closer to Stiles, pulling the blankets closer around his body, and then pulls Stiles closer to his. “I didn’t mean like that. I meant that that was a poor excuse for a kiss. On _my_ part.”

“Oh,” Stiles says into Derek’s neck where his face is pressed. “So we didn’t talk about it because…?”

Derek shrugs. “I didn’t know if you wanted to,” he admits, running his hand up and down Stiles’ back. Stiles can feel the warmth of Derek’s hand through the blankets. He’s digging it, especially since he’s feeling so sick from the chemo that morning.

“Well I want to,” Stiles says, adamant. He’s sick and he wants this, at least this. He doesn’t think it’s that much to ask.

“Ok. So let’s talk.”

Stiles sighs; of course Derek would leave this part to him. “Ok. _I’ll_ start,” and he’s so sure Derek is smiling but he can’t see his face from where his own is pressed against Derek’s skin. “I liked kissing you.”

“So did I,” Derek says, and yeah, he’s definitely smiling. Stiles can hear it in his voice.

“And I like cuddling with you. On the couch. On my bed. You’re warm,” Stiles adds as an afterthought.

“ _You’re_ not, not anymore,” Derek says quietly, and there’s a sadness to his voice. Stiles hates that.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, I like this and I like you. And you said you liked me. Now, the question is, do you think you can deal with… _this_?” Stiles says _this_ with a boat-load of emphasis on it, because Derek knows what _this_ is. _This_ is the sickness that’s eating away at Stiles body. It’s going to appointments, and cleaning up vomit when Stiles’ stomach gets too weak to hold anything down. _This_ is watching Stiles cry at night, because sometimes everything catches up to him and he gets low. It’s letting him be needy because he feels lonely and supporting him when he gets too tired to go on alone. “Because if you’re willing to give it a shot, then I am too.” Stiles says it all like it is. In the time that he’s been sick, he’s realized that he might not have time to be timid.

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?” Derek asks then and that’s a bit of a shock to Stiles. Because yeah, ok, realistically, Derek has been doing _this_ since the start. Stiles just didn’t know if he wanted to keep doing. “I’m going to be here,” Derek continues, his voice low but passionate, “I’m going to be here, even if you don’t want me to be.”

“I’m gonna want you to be,” Stiles replies. “It’s no fun being alone.”

He doesn’t realize just what he’s admitted until Derek responds solemnly, “No, it’s not.”

There’s silence and then Derek moves, putting his feet up on the couch, twisting his body so he’s lying on the length of the couch with Stiles laying on his chest covered in blankets. He holds him close, almost constricting, but Stiles finds it comforting. It’s only when Derek starts to shake that Stiles gets a bit worried.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, realizing that _that’s_ the problem.

The fact that Derek doesn’t respond, just holds him tighter, speaks volumes .

* * *

Stiles wakes up to his dad coming into the house.  He doesn’t bother waking Derek up because he’s already up, probably never fell asleep, and he doesn’t bother separating from Derek because if his dad can’t come to terms with his almost-17 year old son making his own decisions on who he wants to be with, then he’s not going to talk to his dad in general.

The Sheriff is exactly the man Stiles believes him to be though, and he just appraises his son and the older man laying on the couch together with tired eyes, an acceptance in them. “What happened?” he asks, because there had to have been something wrong to prompt this, he’s sure.

“They want me on more chemo,” Stiles says and gives a shiver. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

His dad sits down and says, “Why?” He sounds so tired and Stiles feels so guilty, because it’s his fault.

“The growth rate hasn’t slowed down to what they want. They think if they bump it up to three times a week, in another month they can get the surgery going,” Derek responds.

“You’ll miss the start of school,” his dad says and yeah, Stiles already thought of that.

“Nothing a little summer school can’t solve,” Stiles responds, trying to sound upbeat and good natured.

“So if it hasn’t slowed down…?” his dad says.

He’d hoped to avoid this, really. But his dad knew better. “It spread some more,” Stiles admits. “Not a lot, but more than they thought it would. They’re finding polyps on my colon.  They… they said if I don’t do the tri-weekly treatment I might have to go on an IV.” His dad looks horrified, about to ask why but Stiles beats him to it. “My stomach is already having problems breaking stuff down. If it spreads more, it might just… shut down.”

Derek hasn’t said anything, but every few seconds, he clutches Stiles tighter and tighter and it’s starting to fucking hurt. “Derek,” he says softly, soft enough that his dad can’t hear. The grip is loosened and Stiles can breathe again.

“So,” his dad says, “Tri-weekly, you say?”

There’s a small tone of reluctance in Stiles’ voice when he says, “Yeah. Tri-weekly.”

* * *

It’s noon and Stiles is throwing up his guts. Derek has a warm hand on his back and the other on the back of his neck. His nose burns, his stomach aches and his eyes are watering, tears dripping down his face, sliding down his neck into his t-shirt collar. He coughs and only phlegm comes up now. There’s a moment where Stiles thinks he’s going to hack up a lung, but then his body rebels and he presses his sweaty forehead to the porcelain of the toilet seat.

“Oh no you don’t,” Derek says to him. “Come on. Up, up, up. To bed with you.” He extracts Stiles from the toilet, prying his hands from the lip of the bowl, and lifts him up. It’s gotten easier for him to do it, and now Stiles feels like paper in his arms. It’s disturbing, and as Derek has whispered about many times before, it makes him feel helpless.

“Imagine how _I_ feel,” Stiles had said the last time Derek had confided in him, trying to lighten up the mood. “I can’t eat _and_ I’m skinny as hell. What I’d do for a cheeseburger right about now and the appetite to eat it!”

Derek puts Stiles on his bed, which has since acquired several extra blankets and a bucket for emergencies by the foot of it. Then he climbs in behind him and spoons up to him. Stiles is pulled against his chest and Derek can feel his vertebra through his thin t-shirt. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to the back of Stiles’ bald head.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, his lips cracked. His mouth tastes foul, but he isn’t particularly thirsty right now, and he doesn’t want to bother Derek with having to get up and get him a glass of water.

“ _Don’t_ … please don’t _apologize_ for this, for _any_ of this,” Derek says, his voice cracking on the last part. Stiles hears him swallow. “Don’t, alright? Just don’t.”

He wants to say sorry again. He wants to tell Derek to leave, to save himself because Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s getting better. He feels like he’s getting sicker and it’s spreading to places it shouldn’t be. He feels like the cancer isn’t just in the tumor anymore. He feels like it’s everywhere, but maybe that’s just the post-chemo blues he’s feeling.

Tears prick at his eyes and his face is suddenly aflame with embarrassment. He doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Derek, even though Derek knew what he was signing up for when he did so.

Suddenly, Derek’s sitting up, bringing Stiles with him. He turns the younger boy around and says, “Stiles what’s-?”

He breaks down then, large, hot and salty tears rolling down his cheeks. Stiles haunches over, shaking with the force of it, the misery. He hates feeling sick and helpless. He’d already felt useless to the Pack. Now he feels like he’s worthless, on top of it all. He’s weighing them down and he’s so tired of it all. He’s tired of poisoning his already sickly body, sick and tired of whatever is eating him from the inside out. He’s so done with it all.

Derek gathers him close and hushes him, sitting Stiles in his lap. He rocks Stiles back and forth, but he doesn’t say anything, because, what can he say? That it’ll get better? He doesn’t know if it will. That he has nothing to worry about? Oh, but he does. He has so much to worry about.

“Shh,” Derek says instead, “Stiles, shh, I don’t – I don’t know what to _do_ when you’re…” He cuts himself off and swallows hard. Stiles sniffles, looks up and sees Derek with glassy eyes, a frustrated look on his face. “I don’t know what to do when you’re _crying_.”

That innocent, honest admission, god, Stiles can’t take it. He suddenly starts to laugh, laugh and hiccup through the tears because he’s being selfish, isn’t he? Thinking only of himself while Derek has to watch him waste away into nothing. He knows what that feels like, had to go through it when his mom had been sick. So he just buries his face into the crook of Derek’s neck and laughs himself silly before he’s crying again and whoa. His treatment is really fucking with his hormones.

“I am a horrible boyfriend,” Stiles says after he’s calmed down. He toys with Derek’s shirt collar, picking at a stray string by curling it around and around his finger until it turns the tip of it white. Derek takes his hand in his own, stops him from fidgeting and just holds his hand. Derek’s palm is warm, comforting. Stiles likes it. He likes the sound of Derek breathing, he likes how he’s positioned his own body between Stiles and the world, protecting him from what he can.

“You’re fine,” Derek responds, but his voice is thick.

“I just had a mental break down and then laughed at you in the span of five minutes,” Stiles points out, his head lolling tiredly against Derek’s shoulder, where he’s rolling it to the side to look at his face.

“It’s the extra chemo and meds,” Derek defends, a thumb rubbing at the strip of pale skin that’s peeking out at Stiles’ waist, between his shirt and his warm-up pants.

“That may be so, but…”

“No, no buts. Shut up,” Derek snaps, then seems to regret it. “Just... don’t ok? I can’t… I can’t deal with that.”

“Well you’re gonna have to!” Stiles says, pulling away, his eyes getting wet. “Because obviously I’m _not_ getting better, so just – just deal with it!” He pokes Derek hard in the chest. “Deal with it, because – because _I_ _have_ _to_ and… and…” Stiles sniffles, pawing at his nose, and his next exhale is cut off with a gush of blood streaming out his nose. He immediately opens his mouth to breathe in as the blood drizzles down his upper lip. “ _Fuck_!”

Derek looks like a deer in the head lights for a minute, before he reaches over for a tissue on the night stand by Stiles’ bed. With a strong, sure hand, he clamps the tissue on the bridge of Stiles’ nose and tips the boy’s head forward. It hurts, but after a few minutes, the nose-bleed stops and Derek cleans Stiles up. There’s blood on his shirt, so Derek changes it, slipping Stiles into Derek’s own special shirt, the one Stiles never returned to him.

He doesn’t say anything until they’re settled back in bed, Stiles laying on his chest, quiet again. His nose is red and there’s some blood crusted on his nostrils, but neither of them are too concerned about that. “Don’t… don’t do that,” Derek says.

“Do what?” Stiles says, his voice scratchy.

“Don’t say things to try and make me _leave_. I’m not going to, and you only end up hurting the both of us,” Derek responds. “So _don’t_. I’ll deal with this and whatever else comes our way, alright? You’re not dealing with it alone, so stop acting like it.” And technically, Stiles has never been dealing with this alone, Derek’s been there every step of the way, so now he feels twice as guilty for yelling at him. Before he gets to apologize, though, Derek does. “I’m sorry for saying I couldn’t deal with it. I _can_ , I just don’t _want_ to, but you’re right. I _have_ to. And I _will_.”

He’s a horrible person. Stiles is so sure of it. If he dies, he’ll be going to hell. “I’m a horrible boyfriend,” Stiles repeats. He’d let the helplessness get to him, and then he took it out on Derek. He shouldn’t have. He’s stronger and better than that.

“No,” Derek says, and he can hear the smile again. “You’re just a pain in my ass.”

“But at least it’s _your_ ass?” Stiles asks, a small grin on his face.

“Exactly,” Derek confirms. Then he mumbles, “ _Mine_ ,” and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not talking about a pain in the ass.

“Yeah,” Stiles says as he starts to drift off. “ _Yours_.”  And that’s probably the worst thing he could ever do to Derek. Promise him something he may not be able to keep.

And they both know it.

* * *

It’s late. Derek stays over Stiles’ house these days, something horrible in his gut telling him not to leave, don’t you dare leave, he might go and you won’t be here to say goodbye. Some nights he sleeps, Stiles curled up to his chest, but most nights find him in the kitchen, coffee in a mug warming his hands.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Derek hears a creak from upstairs and prepares himself. A few minutes later, the sheriff heads down and sits at the table across from him. Derek gets up and pours him a cup of coffee, setting it in front of the older man. He takes his seat, then takes a deep breath.

“Ok,” Derek says. “Go.”

The sheriff doesn’t ask how Derek knew he wanted to discuss something with him. He just nods and takes the chance the younger man has offered him. “You can leave. You _should_ leave.”

Derek shakes his head. “No. I’m good. I think I’ll stay right where I am.”

Sheriff Stilinski wipes a hand down his face. The man looks so tired, and Derek really does feel for him, but he won’t budge on this subject. “And if he…?” He lets the question hang. “Don’t you think you’ve lost enough?”

It’s touching that Stiles’ dad is making an effort to save Derek from that, from that outcome and how horrible it’ll all be. But Derek can’t leave, he can’t. “Then I’ll deal with it,” he says icily. “I’m not going to leave just because there’s a possibility that your son will die. I’m going to stick around. I’m going to clean him up when he throws-up all over himself and his sheets. I’m going to hold him when he cries and if he does pass on, I will damn well be beside him when it happens.” He clenches his jaw. “You _can’t_ make me leave.”

The thing is, the sheriff really can’t make him leave. He is physically incapable of forcing Derek to leave his son. Derek will prove it to him if it comes to it, but for now, he’s going to make it clear with his words. Actions don’t always have to speak louder.

The sheriff looks at him and nods slowly. “Why him, then?”

“Why _not_ him?” Derek counteracts. “He’s smart, and he’s funny. You won’t find anyone more loyal than him, or more giving than him. He will never back down, he will never take bullshit, and he will always call me out on mine. He’s so willing to – to _help_ , so willing to see the good in everyone and he _sticks_ to it.” Derek looks down at his coffee, the black liquid sloshing around as he turns his cup. “Look at _me_. He’s still around, he’s _been_ around. I’m not leaving because it’s getting hard. If anything, I won’t budge.” He looks up then and maybe his eyes flash, he’s not sure. “ _Sir_.”

Stiles’ dad doesn’t seem to have seen anything off; he just nods and drinks the rest of his coffee. Getting up, he puts his mug in the sink and then walks by Derek, gripping his shoulder. “Then get some sleep. It’s a tiring job.” He sighs. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Derek nods. “Right.”

“Right. Night then, Derek.”

“Goodnight Sheriff Stilinski.”

There’s a moment when the older man’s face twists into a sour expression, and then it relaxes as he nods to himself, almost resigned. “You can call me Jay.”

Derek sees this as the olive branch that it’s meant to be. “Jay it is. Goodnight, Jay.”

Derek doesn’t actually get any sleep. Neither, he knows, does Jay.


	5. If You Want Me Again, Look Under Your Boot-Soles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything sucks. Everything hurts. Derek realizes some shit. The Pack gets more in touch with their Pack-ness. Stiles gets infinitely worse. What the hell can they do though? And Derek is starting to realize that this treatment stuff isn't actually working. 
> 
> Whoops.

School starts and Stiles stays on the tri-weekly plan. School means the fall, and that means changing leaves and apple pies and cold winds. Stiles doesn’t get to see much of it, and what he can see from his window isn’t as riveting as the woods would be. He catches glimpses when Derek drives him to the hospital, but besides that, nothing. He gets depressed as the weather gets colder and the days get darker earlier.

Derek doesn’t know what to do.

“Work with me here,” he says one afternoon. “What do you want to do?”

“Too tired,” Stiles admits. “Bored, but tired. I don’t want to sleep, but I can’t get up and move around because then I’ll get exhausted and I’ll _have_ to sleep.” His head is in Derek’s lap, his eyes are closed and Derek is rubbing his thumbs into his temples. It feels nice.

“We could go for a drive,” Derek suggests.

“Cold,” Stiles says, dismissing that idea.

“Onto the porch then?”

“Still cold,” Stiles says.

“To the window, at least?” Derek almost begs.

Stiles opens his eyes and looks up at him, a frown on his face. Derek smoothes out the frown lines on his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “What is your issue?”

“I’m worried about you,” Derek admits, almost reluctantly. “You’re inside if you’re not at the hospital. You get so sad sometimes, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Me neither,” Stiles admits quietly. He sighs and a tear streaks down his face from the corner of his eye, dripping sideways and into his ear. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “You could call the others? If they don’t mind doing their homework in my room….”

“Yeah, I could do that,” Derek says, the relief bleeding into his voice. He lets Stiles’ head out of his lap and lowers it onto a pillow. Derek leans down to kiss Stiles, but Stiles moves his head. They don’ kiss much, not for lack of trying, though. Derek will give little kisses on Stiles’ forehead or neck or hands. But the moment he goes for his mouth, Stiles gets uncomfortable. It’s not that he doesn’t like it. It’s just that, these days he throws up a lot and his mouth is either disgusting from the bile or chalky from his medication. He doesn’t want Derek to have to have that in his mouth, as a reminder of the state Stiles is in.

Derek gives a tired sigh, presses his forehead to Stiles’. “I thought you wanted this,” he says.

“I do,” Stiles whispers back.

“Then why don’t you ever let me _kiss_ you?” Derek sounds hurt and that’s not fair. Stiles is trying to protect him from himself. If that makes any sense.

“Because… I mean, I just… I just took my meds and I threw up earlier and – and I mean, my mouth is _gross_ …” Stiles stutters out.

Derek’s mouth twitches up into a sad excuse for a smile.  “I don’t _care_ ,” he says and leans down, finally pressing his lips to Stiles’. The younger boy lets him, even opens his mouth tentatively. Derek makes a satisfied noise at the back of his throat and Stiles really likes this, actually. Derek’s mouth pulls away with a soft, popping, wet sound. He smiles for real this time, and it warms Stiles to his toes. “I’ll go make that call.”

Derek leaves and Stiles lays in bed and thinks about how this is the last thing he wants to leave. He turns on his side and must have dozed off because he wakes up to Derek kissing the back of his neck and Jackson saying, “Oh my god, _no_. Not in front of us, and especially _me_. While I’m thrilled you got your shit together, I don’t need any evidence of it.”

“Shut up,” Erica snaps. “I think it’s cute,” she assures them.

Everyone settles into his room, and shit, they all came. Like, even Allison, even _Danny_. He sits next to Isaac, who’s already pulling out his physics homework. Allison smiles at him, giving a weak wave before she sits next to Scott on the bed. Scott is smiling, like there’s nothing wrong, like Stiles doesn’t look like a human skeleton. The two of them hide their discomfort better, since they’ve already seen him. The others are a bit restless, Lydia even going so far as to not make eye contact with him while she talks. Boyd keeps clearing his throat, picking and choosing his words carefully.

“Here’s the thing,” Stiles says, loud enough to get their attention. Derek helps him sit up, not saying a word, just doing his thing. “I’m sick. I could die. I look like shit, and I know it. So. You can look at me when you talk Lydia, I know I’m not as fine a specimen as I used to be, but that’s ok. And Boyd, you don’t have to watch your mouth. I won’t be insulted, promise. Danny, I’m sorry you have to see them all acting this way. It’s embarrassing.”

Danny smiles, completely at ease, his dimples lighting up his face. “It’s alright. I’ll make sure to work on manners with Isaac one of these days.”

“That would be so totally helpful. Wanna pitch in and help with Jackson?” Stiles says, smiling.

“Oh no,” Danny says, throwing his best friend a sad look. “He’s a hopeless case. Jackson will forever be an asshole.”

The room erupts in to laughter, breaking the tension, and Jackson throws a pillow at Danny, muttering, “Fuck you,” as he does so.

It’s easier after that, everyone helping each other with homework as the day goes on. They’re sprawled on blankets and pillows on the floor of his room, throwing things and eating, acting like nothing’s changed and Stiles feels so much better with his friends around. Scott and Allison are still disgustingly in love, Jackson is still an asshole, Danny and Lydia are still a king and queen. Isaac is shy, but doesn’t hide the fact that he and Danny’s hands are entwined for most of the afternoon and night. Boyd and Erica lay sprawled together without any regard for the people around them.

And Derek, Derek is happy and full of life with his Pack around. They lend him strength, Stiles knows, but it’s more than that. It’s family to him, and slowly everyone else is beginning to realize that and to realize that it’s ok to behave as such. So they tease each other, and listen and respect him, but they have fun too.

“You’re like their _dad_ ,” Stiles says later on that night, after everyone has left and they’re laying in bed together. “Like, not just the wolves, but with Allison, Lydia and Danny too.”

“They’ve all become a part of the Pack,” Derek whispers back. “They’re all my responsibility.”

“You care about them,” Stiles says, pushing it because he knows he can.

Derek hesitates a moment but then nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“So… what? Does that make me, like, their mom?”

Derek snorts a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. “Only you, Stiles.”

“I’m serious! Does that make me their mom?” Stiles insists.

Derek gently, playfully flips him onto his back and hovers over him before dropping a kiss to his mouth. “Yeah,” he says nodding, “yeah that makes you their mom.”

“Good,” Stiles says, closing his eyes, letting Derek kiss his throat, his collarbone that sickly sticks out against his skin. “Good. I like that.”

“Having a bunch of pain in the ass cubs?”

“No,” Stiles says, “having something as important as them to share with you.” Then he turns his head to the side and coughs until there’s blood on his lips and he finds it hard to breathe.

Derek kisses him afterward despite the taste of blood it leaves in his mouth and the utter hopelessness it leaves in his heart.

* * *

Stiles sleeps a lot on the days after a chemo session. It gives Derek time to think about the odd burning feeling he gets behind his heart sometimes when Stiles looks at him. It gives him time to think about the fact that he can’t stand to be too far from Stiles, the feeling turning to utter anguish if he’s gone too long. Derek contemplates the fact that he’s so in-tune with Stiles that he anticipates his movements before he does them, can hear his heart without trying or thinking about it, knows his breathing pattern like the back of his hand and can tell when it changes.

There’s something more there, he knows, something that doesn’t happen often, especially to Alphas. He can feel it growing between them, a connection that only he is aware of.  He can’t stop it, and doesn’t want to, not really. All he wants to do is be near Stiles and protect him, and it physically hurts that he can’t, not from this. Not from what’s happening. At least, he doesn’t think he can, doesn’t know how. Still feels helpless.

Watching Stiles helps calm him, though, brings him back to that level of dual awareness. He can feel what Stiles is feeling as well as what he himself is feeling. It’s beautiful while simultaneously terrifying, and he doesn’t know if he should talk to Peter about it, Peter who he hasn’t seen in weeks because he doesn’t go home anymore and the other man doesn’t care enough to call or worry. Derek doesn’t care much either, but he knows Peter probably has answers.

It doesn’t matter right now, though. For now, he’ll lie beside Stiles as he sleeps, listen to his heart beat, getting weaker every time he comes back from the hospital. Derek traces patterns over Stiles’ skin, thin and translucent, the veins showing so easily, so fragile, so vulnerable. A triskele is pressed into the skin above Stiles’ heart, a luckenbooth is swirled easily on his stomach, pentagrams and pentacles make their way down the skin of his arms. A full moon finds its way onto Stiles’ neck as he sleeps, a wolf onto his cheek, Derek’s finger serving as his paintbrush.

It calms his mind, seems to relax Stiles, his body responding to Derek’s touch in his unconscious state. It’s all he can give, all Derek knows to do, whispering old words that have lost their meaning, but Derek knows they’re words of healing, of calm and aid. He doesn’t know if they work, but they help ease his own flurried mind, make him rest easier at night.

He presses a kiss to the inside of Stiles’ wrist and lays back to watch him. It’s all Derek knows to do. He hates it.

* * *

Stiles gets worse.

Sometimes his heart rate drops so low that it wakes Derek up in the middle of the night, and he has to shake Stiles awake to regulate it again. He has nightmares, wakes up sobbing, and Derek can only hold him close because Stiles doesn’t remember what they had been about. His desk becomes littered with plastic bottles, for pain, for chemo, for nausea. He throws these up, more often than not, can’t keep a solid meal down, shivers constantly. Stiles can never get warm, relies on Derek’s body heat instead to keep him comfortable.

Time passes. Stiles gets tired again. He cries at random times in the day, and not even Derek can make it better. He lets himself be held, but the constant fatigue doesn’t go away, the constant ache never leaves. He’s taken to sobbing before and after every therapy session and his dad starts to worry, wants to call a therapist. Stiles refuses. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want someone to know what he’s thinking.

Because he’s thinking of giving up.

It’s a horrible thought, sends chills down his spine every time he thinks of it. But whenever Derek’s Camaro pulls up to the hospital building it seems so much better to just stop.  Stop the treatment that they say is working, but at a slow pace, doing half of what they want it to do, expected it to do. Stop the constant suffering. He knows if he says this to his dad he’ll be devastated, if he says it to his friends, they’ll fight. If he says it to Derek… god, Derek . Derek will either allow him to do whatever he thinks is best or fight more than the others put together.

Derek’s gotten closer, never leaves, and Stiles doesn’t want him to. If he does give up, if he just stops pushing one day, he wants Derek to be there, because he won’t be strong enough alone. There must have been a hole in his heart, because Derek filled it up and Stiles didn’t know it was there until that happened. Derek and his dad are his only real regrets if anything happens. But it’s so exhausting to keep up the fight. He was weak before. He’s worse now.

“It won’t go away,” he tells Derek one night. It’s past midnight, he can’t sleep, he’s got tears slipping down his face. Derek wipes them away.

“What won’t go away?” he whispers. Stiles is in his lap with his head against his shoulder, and Derek is reclined against his headboard, his arms around Stiles’ body.

“This – this buzzing in my head,” Stiles sobs. “And this, this ache in my chest. It won’t go away, and I want it to stop. I want it to _stop_. Make it _stop_ ,” he begs, shaking his head back and forth.

He feels Derek shake. “I… Stiles I can’t,” he says, his voice strained, like he’s holding back tears. “Tell me what to _do_. I don’t know _how_ , I can’t. I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_.” He starts to rock them back and forth.

Stiles shakes his head, feels bad, but can’t help it. “S’ok,” he manages. “S’ok, Derek. Just stay, ok? Don’t go anywhere, _just_ _stay_. You make it _better_ by staying, don’t go.”

“ _I’m staying_ ,” Derek says. “I’m staying, alright?”

“Alright,” Stiles murmurs, falling asleep. “ _Alright_.”

Derek feels more helpless than ever and just barely manages to keep himself from crying once Stiles finally falls asleep.

* * *

Derek figures it out a few days later. Stiles is smiling at something on the TV and his wolf growls _mate_ , and clings to the term. _Mate_. It makes sense, the bond they’ve started to create. Stiles is his _mate_ and Stiles is sick and dying and his wolf is trying to help, has finally acknowledged Stiles as his own. It’s shocking, makes him catch his breath, like it’s all been knocked out of him.

Derek walks in from the kitchen and sits by Stiles on the couch, picking him up to sit him on his lap and hold him close. Stiles looks a bit worried, so world-weary and worried.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice whispery and scratchy.

“Nothing,” Derek says, and his voice shakes. There’s a lump in his throat that hurts to swallow around, and he presses his face against Stiles’ neck, and breathes deep. It’s a battle against tears, because Stiles is his, Stiles is a part of him, and he’s losing him, but he’s Derek’s and that means so much more than anything else does, is more important than his sickness and Derek’s lycanthropy.

He doesn’t let go, and Stiles eventually falls into sleep. Derek doesn’t feel better, feels worse actually, because it might kill him to lose Stiles. But it makes him want to fight for him, more than before. This is his, he finally has something and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let a force as petty as Death take that away from him.

* * *

“I can’t breathe,” Stiles gasps and a nurse runs in with Derek. They get him out of the therapy room, an oxygen mask on his face, and Dr. Collins is with them, a stethoscope to Stiles’ chest. Stiles is gripping Derek’s hand, and although it’s a feeble grip, Derek knows he’s straining, panicking, afraid.

“Stiles, you need to take a deep breath,” Dr. Collins says. “You’ve been breathing too shallowly, one of your lungs is threatening to collapse. You need to stop panicking and take a deep breath.”

“H-hard, h-hard to,” he gasps, still struggling.

“I know,” she says, her voice full of sincere sympathy. “I know, but you have to try or else we’re going to have to puncture your chest to inflate it.”

“Stiles breathe,” Derek says, pressing his nose to Stiles’ temple, rubbing circles into his hand. He _pushes_ all he has into it. He wants Stiles to breathe, help out his failing lung. Slowly, the choking noises stop, and the panic in Derek’s chest lessens. He opens his eyes and Stiles is breathing, deep, long breaths that are making Dr. Collins smile in relief.

“Good, alright, you’re alright. You’ll be just fine,” she says, and Stiles collapses against Derek’s chest. Before they leave the hospital though, she pulls Derek aside. “ _Watch_ him,” she says worriedly. “I just… I’m getting a bad feeling, after today. Watch him, alright? We’re pumping him full of radiation, remember that. His lungs may not be the only thing failing because of the therapy.”

That’s when Derek knows. It’s not going to be enough. It’s _never_ going to be enough.

* * *

Derek’s laying in bed with Stiles. It’s nice and warm and Stiles can hear Derek’s heart beat from where his ear is pressed to the other man’s chest. It’s calming, like a lullaby, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s going to just get lulled to sleep by it. Between that and Derek smoothing a hand down his back over and over again, he’s sure he’ll fall asleep in no time.

And he does.

Derek’s a bit relieved, actually. Stiles had been complaining of chest pain earlier and Derek had been poised for the worst. But now he was sleeping and it was calm and the room was quiet, Derek laying with Stiles against his chest and –

_And the room is quiet._

For a moment, Derek panics and seeks out Stiles’ heartbeat, because his breathing has just stopped, but the heartbeat is still there, thumping weakly at the same pace it’s been going for a weeks now. Derek sits up fast and shakes Stiles silly, the younger boy choking on his first breath in over a minute and coughing, his eyes shocked and wide, his mouth open like a fish’s.

“What – what the _hell_?” Stiles gasps, coughing to the side.

“You stopped breathing,” Derek says softly. He forces his hands to stop shaking.

Stiles yawns, his pale, pink mouth pulling into an innocent ‘o’ shape. “S’ok though, you woke me up. Nurse said I might start doing that,” Stiles added.

Derek looks at him, shocked and lost. He doesn’t remember the nurse telling him that. “What? When? She never told me.”

“You went to the bathroom,” Stiles says, getting comfortable against Derek’s chest again. He seems unconcerned. Derek is far from it.

“And no one wanted to fill me in?” Derek says, incredulous.

“S’not a big deal,” Stiles murmurs. He’s so tired these days. In minutes, he’s back asleep on Derek’s chest, like something horrible hadn’t just happened, like he hadn’t just had to live through that. Derek can’t erase the terror from his mind.

Stiles falls back asleep. Derek doesn’t. Instead, he watches over him throughout the night, making sure that not one hitch in his breath goes unnoticed.

* * *

“He’s getting worse.”

Derek looks up from his cup of coffee. It’s three in the morning. Jay has just sat down in front of him with a pale pallor to his face. And he’s just uttered the three words Derek hates to hear from every one.

“I know,” Derek answers back, saying the two words he hates even more to say in hopeless situations like these. He stares at his cup of coffee, like it’ll give him all the answers to the universe. It doesn’t; instead, Derek smells hazelnuts and vanilla, Stiles’ favorite flavored brew. It makes his heart ache and he thinks back to the frail body asleep upstairs, breathing still steady. They’d only had one other incident since the first time. Derek thought that was a good thing.

Apparently not.

“So,” the Sheriff says, as if he’s inching into something. He looks so damn tired these days. Derek probably looks the same, if not worse. “I think we need to talk to him. About what he wants to do. About whether he wants to stay on the chemo or get off.”

Derek would be choking on his coffee if he had taken a sip. As it is, the cup is untouched. “What did the doctor’s say?” he asks. But he doesn’t really want the answer. He just really needs to hear it anyway.

“They kindly suggested he get off of it. It’s not like we can’t afford it, with his mother’s life insurance and all the donations coming in from the town and across the state, but Dr. Collins pulled me aside and said it wasn’t helping like they wanted it to and that it might be best to stop it and let Stiles…” Jay can’t finish it, and Derek can hear his heart beat speed up, can smell the salt from the tears filling his eyes.

“Die in peace,” Derek finishes. He’s looking at the cup in his hands. Looking at it and wishing he could drink it without thinking of Stiles, and Stiles dying and having to drink coffee after Stiles is dead. Derek doesn’t want that, can’t have that. Refuses to think of that. So he doesn’t drink the coffee.

He looks up and Jay is looking at him, as if to say ‘What the hell do we do?’ Derek shakes his head slowly, practically screaming, ‘I don’t know!’.

“Did she talk to him?” he says instead. Did Dr. Collins talk to Stiles?

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He never gave her an answer.”

* * *

It happens a week later, and if Stiles is being honest, it’s all been leading up to this. His dad is at work, Scott and the others are home or with each other, so they won’t be alone when they get the news. He’s in bed with Derek again, Derek against his headboard, Stiles laying on top of him.

He just feels it. Feels everything slowing, the world spinning. And there are several things Stiles can do. He can fight it with all his might, fight it and keep going. He can tell Derek what’s happening and Derek can try and get him to a hospital, but he probably won’t make it and then Derek would think it was his fault. _Or_ , or Stiles can just let go. He can let his heart slow. It’s too weak to support his body after all they’ve been through, it’s slowing down too fast and he doesn’t know if he can win if he fights it.

Stiles chooses the last one.

It’s disorienting to have your body slow down, but the rest of the world keep going at that same pace. He can feel his heart rate dropping, but Derek’s is still going at a steady beat in his ear. It comforting as he slips away. He wouldn’t have any other sound, really.

“Stiles?” Derek says, sitting up more, prodding at Stiles’ ribs. “Stiles what’s wrong, what’s going on? Stiles!”

“Derek,” Stiles says, because he’s not panicking, he’s just… drifting. “Love you, you know?”

“ _What_?” Derek practically snarls, and Stiles is fading so fast that he can’t be bothered.

“So you know,” Stiles says, and he might be drooling, and he feels like he’s drowning and then it just stops.

* * *

_His heart stops._

Stiles’ heart just stops and Derek freezes because all Stiles had said was that he loved him and then it’d just… stopped. It’d just fucking _stopped_ and he’s so shocked he can’t even… move, breathe, say anything.

The silence in the room is deafening.

“No,” Derek says after a minute. “Stiles, Stiles, _no_ ,” Derek is saying, repeating. “ _Stiles_!” he finally yells but he gets no response and god, the room is so quiet, so, so quiet. It’s sickening, Derek is going to be sick, he’s going to be sick all over Stiles’ still body. Oh god, he can’t even breathe.

The bond, _their bond,_ is fading. He can feel the warmth start to leave his chest and he’s terrified, didn’t realize how much he depended on it, how much it had become a part of him. “No, no, _no_ ,” he mutters, “Oh no. _No_.”

Derek _grabs_. He closes his eyes and reaches out to that warmth, that line to Stiles’ still body. He clutches it close to his heart because it’s _his_ damnit, Stiles is _his_ , and he’s not going anywhere. He holds it, grips that bond and _tugs_. He _pushes_ all he has into it. He’s not losing Stiles, no, no he’s not. He lends that weak heart his own strength, focuses on his heartbeat, multiplies it by two and then _pushes_ it into Stiles’ body.

Love, he thinks. Warmth and love and belonging and Saturday afternoons laying in sunlight and feeling that heartbeat beat a staccato rhythm against a ribcage. Belonging and acceptance, he thinks. Smiles and laughter like a clear bell, words that fill him with a sense of possession. _Mine_ , he thinks. _He’s mine, you can’t take him, he’s mine._ He _pushes_ that thought, that feeling, that _spark_ , right into Stiles through their fading bond.

It takes but a minute, and yet it feels like hours, weeks, months, _years_ , even. And in that minute, something sparks between two bodies.

And the room is filled with noise.

* * *

Stiles wakes up, which is a surprise in itself. All he remembers is Derek, he thinks he might have told him he loved him and then… his memory is oddly spotty. He remembers lights and white noise and that’s it.

He’s in a hospital bed, that much he can tell. There’s beeping, so he’s hooked up to machines. He can hear a heart monitor, and it’s working, so that’s good. He feels an IV in his hand, so he must have been out for a bit, which is _not_ good.

He can also tell he’s not alone. Stiles isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. He’ll just open his eyes and find out if –

It’s a very, very _bad_ thing.

Derek looks terrible, looks kind of sick. Stiles wants to get up, wants to hold him, but he can’t not right now. He does feel a bit better, he’ll admit, oddly enough. Better than he’s felt in a while. But he’s not _that_ kind of better.

“Derek-”

“ _You gave up_ ,” Derek says and wow. Way to make a guy feel the worst guilt since his mom died with three little words. Derek meets his eyes. “ _You_ _gave up_ and…” Derek looks away and yeah. Those are tears. Stiles just made Alpha Wolf Derek Hale cry. He is so going to hell. Like, permanently.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

Derek sighs and moves the plastic chair closer to his bedside. “You’re heart was under too much stress from the chemo therapy and the fact that you never ate anymore and you sometimes worked yourself too much. You’re heart _failed_ , and you didn’t _fight_ it, you didn’t _warn_ me you just…” He swallows thickly and swipes at his face, but his voice doesn’t shake and he never stops look at Stiles. “You just told me you loved me and _died_.”

“Then why…?” Why is he alive?

“I…” and now Derek looks uncomfortable.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Stiles says. He knows that look. Derek is trying to figure out the best lie to feed him. “Don’t lie to me, _please_. Just _tell_ me.”

Derek closes his eyes and breathes deep. “I shared my heart with you.”

“…you did _what_ now?”

When Derek opens his eyes, they’re wide and glassy. “I… I don’t know how but I… I shared my heartbeat with you and it just… it sparked your heart back up and…”

Stiles wants to sit up, shake some answers out of him, but Derek looks lost. “And you did that with _what_ special powers?”

“It was probably our bond,” Derek says. “I used our bond, before it faded.” He looks up at Stiles. “And I just… I just shoved the life back into you.” He looks a bit awed at himself. Stiles feels a bit awed. And yet…

“What kind of bond lets you _do_ that?” Because that can’t be normal. That can’t be.

Derek looks so deadly serious that for a moment, Stiles is afraid that it’s a bad thing. “The bond between an Alpha and their mate is a strong one,” he whispers. And everything goes fuzzy around the edges because Derek just admitted that he, Stiles, is his _mate_. Stiles is his _mate_ , holy shit. Derek saved him because they’re _mates_.

 _They’re mates_.

“Holy fuck my dad’s gonna kill me. Or you. Or the _both_ of us,” Stiles says, because that’s the first thing that comes to his head and Derek cracks a smile. “Wait, is that why I feel better?”

Derek nods. “I’m lending my strength to you. I was experimenting with the bond once they got you stable. The more I lend you, the better you get.”

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Stiles says worriedly.

“I’m a werewolf. I’ll heal,” Derek counters. “And there’s some good news.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

A soft look comes onto Derek’s face. “Your growth’s slowed down enough that they can operate on you now.”

Stiles feels his world stop and then slowly speed back up again before Derek is calling his name and trying to get a response. “I’m … it’s – it’s coming out. It’s coming _out_?” he asks, whispering.

“Yeah,” Derek says, and then he’s leaning over the bedrail and kissing Stiles’ face. “You’ll have to be on the meds for a while to make sure you stay in remission, but you can stop the chemo. It’s coming out.”

Stiles cries. He cries for a good reason for the first time in months. It feels so good, and Derek just smiles, so Stiles kisses him over and over again. “Love you,” he mumbles then freezes because _whoops_.

“That’s _another_ thing,” Derek says. “You left before I got to say it.” Derek looks Stiles in the eyes and god, he feels the depth of that gaze right down to his toes. “ _I love you_ ,” Derek says, his voice unwavering. “You’re my mate. I’m not going _anywhere_.”

“I’m stuck with you?” Stiles asks, half kidding, half hoping.

“Only if you want me,” Derek admits.

“Honestly?” Stiles says softly. “There is _nothing_ I want more.”

His heart monitor goes off the charts after that and the nurses come rushing in to find Stiles almost pinned under Derek, breathless and lightheaded at the kiss he’s been pulled into.

They leave after that and figure he’s just fine.

* * *

When Stiles wakes up, it’s to the beeping of machines and he’s in a hospital room, complete with gray scale coloring and uncomfortable bed. He turns his head to the side and checks the little digital clock they have sitting on a little low night table and it’s a Tuesday. The great thing is that when he closed his eyes it was Tuesday, early in the morning, so he’s made it out alright.

“Look who’s up,” he hears come from his right side, and when he turns his head, Derek is sitting there in a plastic chair. He looks horrible still, and so, so tired. Stiles can read the exhaustion on his face.

“Hey,” Stiles says, his voice scratchy. He reaches out a weak hand to Derek and the other man takes it. His hand is strong and warm in Stiles’.  Derek traces his fingers over the back of Stiles’ hand and stares at his face. Stiles doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s out,” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, and he lets a tear streak down his face. Derek wipes it away with his thumb, then bends over slowly, and gently kisses Stiles on the mouth. “What was that for?”

“For surviving,” Derek says quietly. And yeah. That’s a big deal. That’s a really big deal. And Stiles starts to laugh and laugh and laugh, his stomach hurting, the staples pulling, and he can’t stop. He survived. He survived and he’s Derek Hale's mate and he’s in love and he’s wanted and he’s _alive_. He’s alive and he survived.

“I’m proud of you,” Derek says, just as Stiles’ dad walks in with a cup of coffee and a relieved look on his face. “I am so happy and I am so, so proud.” Derek’s voice is raspy and broken, but Stiles can’t help it.

“I’m happy and proud of myself too,” he says and then his dad is laughing and Derek is smirking for the first time in a long time and Stiles has missed it. He’s missed that look on Derek’s face, of barely contained amusement and fondness directed at him. He’s missed all of this.

He’s missed living.

And now, he’s got his chance back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else catch the 'happy and proud' TW reference I threw in there? Anyone?
> 
> No?
> 
> Well I did it. So....


	6. Failing To Fetch Me At First Keep Encouraged, Missing Me One Place Search Another (I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue in which things come together and people stay together and it's a happy ending alright? 
> 
> What more can you ask for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK
> 
> THIS IS IT.
> 
> THE EPILOGUE.
> 
> THIS IS THE END MY FRIENDS.
> 
> LIVE LONG AND PROSPER - ah shit wrong fandom.

_6 Months Later…_

“That is so irritating, _stop_ ,” Stiles whines, ducking away from Derek. Derek just laughs and catches him by the waist, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair for the millionth time that day. He loves that he’s able to do that now and Stiles secretly loves that he does it, too. He’s well on his way to a full recovery, the medicine bottles in his cupboard and the scar across his abdomen the only things left of his ordeal.

That’s not to say Stiles isn’t careful every day. Whenever he’s sick he checks in which Dr. Collins and his physician first, just to be sure. He takes his medicine every day. They’ve slowly been cutting back what they give him, easing him off. His hair is coming back in, slowly but surely. He’s gained back most of the weight he lost, and he’s got an appetite to go along with it. The scar across his abdomen from the operation they did to remove his tumor is starting to fade. His dad bought him scar cream for it and he applies it every day. He sees no need in having that scar prominent for the rest of his life.

Derek sighs and rubs his nose against Stiles’, sighing in content. It’s been a good few months. After Stiles got the surgery, he’d done much better with everything else and it had only been a matter of time before he was back to his old self again. Well, with a few changes, that is.

“My dad’s gonna start wondering where I got this scar from,” Stiles says rubbing at the half-moon scar on his shoulder. It’s warm enough that he’s wearing a tank-top and the mark is showing.

Derek shrugs, ducking his head to press his lips against it, taking in a lungful of Stiles’ scent. He used to smell so sick, like death and dying, like his body was collapsing in on itself. Now, he smells like cinnamon and lavender, like mint and citrus. He also smells overwhelmingly of Derek.

“Mmm, just play it off for a while. It’ll be a bit hard to explain to him that it’s an Alpha’s Mate bite if I’m not around,” Derek says. And that’s exactly what it is. Once Stiles had gotten better enough and up to it, Derek had bonded with him the right way, the way werewolves and there mates traditionally did it – sex and a non-turning bite that scarred in a silver color in the shape of a crescent moon. In return, Derek had gotten Stiles’ initials tattooed into the already existing triskelion tattoo on his back. It’s Stiles’ own mark on him. Derek’s quite fond of it.

“We’re gonna have to tell him about that too, eventually,” Stiles says, turning in Derek’s arms. “I mean, he was really freaked out when I healed as fast as I did after the surgery. I didn’t know how to tell him my mate’s bond was helping me out. I think he’s worried all that radiation turned me into a mutant ninja turtle or something.”

Derek makes a face at Stiles joke on his illness. He still can’t talk about it like Stiles can, so he swallows hard and presses their foreheads together. “Don’t talk about it?” he asks, his voice gruff.

Stiles gets it though. There will be a time in the future that they’ll be able to discuss it without tears or that terrible pull in their guts. It’s obviously not today and won’t be for a while. “Of course, sorry,” he says softly.

“Don’t be,” Derek answers with a smile, his good mood coming back, leaning down to kiss Stiles.

“So like, Jackson said that you guys needed some help with the drinks and – Oh my god! Eeww, stop!” Scott squeals covering his eyes. “You’re a jerk Jackson!” he yells back, knowing the other boy can hear him. Derek pulls away from Stiles’ mouth just in time to tune into Jackson’s hysterical laughter outside on the Stilinskis’ front porch. He’d actually forgotten they were having a little weekend get-together with the Pack.

Whoops.

“We’ll bring the rest of the drinks out Scott,” Derek says.

“Damn right you will,” Scott answers, but then peeks back, looking a bit guilty. “Sorry… about the screaming.”

Stiles laughs and laughs and Scott gets the picture, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

“Now, where were we?” Derek asks, leaning back down, kissing him again.

“Derek, no. We really have to bring that stuff out. You know how Lydia gets.”

“Fuck it,” Derek growls, even as he hears Jackson tell Lydia and Lydia shriek, “ _Rude_ , Hale. That was just rude!”

Derek doesn’t care. He kisses Stiles for all he’s worth and even contemplates taking him to bed right then and there and if it wasn’t for the fact that the Sheriff would be home soon, he would do it, too. Because he’d been so close to losing Stiles, so damn close, and it had been the most terrifying thing he’d even been through. He’d lost so much after the fire, after Laura, after Peter. Damn him if he was going to lose Stiles too. He’d fought for what was his. And he has it.

Derek pulls away, looking into Stiles eyes. He doesn’t do that often, but he’ll do it now, for Stiles. “Love you,” he whispers against the younger man’s mouth.

Stiles’ lips twitch up into a tiny grin that Derek can’t help pressing his lips again. A grin that had almost been gone. A grin he’d almost lost.

“Love you right back,” Stiles says and Derek clutches to him, wants to hear it again and again, coming from those lips, in that voice, from this boy. “I’m not going anywhere Derek,” Stiles says quietly, but there’s a smile on his lips that Derek can feel pressed against his cheek.

He pulls back from Stiles, looks  at him good and close, his eyes lingering on the mark on his shoulder, the moles on his face, the dent on his lower lip, his eyes and the buzz of hair coming up on his head. And then he smiles.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM THIS IS THE FANMIX MY LOVELY BRANQUIGNOLE MADE FOR THIS STORY
> 
> Thank you bb.   
> Thank you.
> 
> http://www.4shared.com/zip/qo69TSMB/weve_lit_torches_for_youzip.html
> 
> Right ok. There we go. Hope you give it a listen while you read this because she is wonderful and like rainbows and smiles inside of cake AND WHO GOT THAT REFERENCE?


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